In A Hopeless Place
by ellowyntinuviel
Summary: A series of Rachel/Santana drabbles and one-shots that will occasionally feature other characters. Includes romance, friendship, and other pairings sometimes.
1. On the Trapeze

I've been writing drabbles and one-shots on Tumblr when people send me requests and I decided to start posting them over here, too. There are several more over there and I'll try to bring them over here as I remember.

This one is based on the prompt: "Santana runs from her strict home and inadvertently runs into a circus. Rachel Berry is their star act. Based slightly on Water for Elephants."

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><p><em>Santana, you'll never find a suitable husband if you keep behaving like this. What kind of mother will you be if you don't know how to sew? When your husband comes home, he will expect you to have dinner prepared. It doesn't matter if you don't love him; you will be expected to provide him with children to carry on his legacy. Your legacy? You'll be their mother. No one is going to want you if you continue to act like some ill-mannered miscreant. Do you know what you're doing to this family? The things that people say about us; about you. It's a disgrace. Verguenza.<em>

Santana could stomach the things that her family tried to do to her, the situations they put her in and the words they said to her; the constant attempts to find her a suitable husband who would be willing to marry her despite the fact her skin wasn't white.

But it was her abuela who broke her heart and her spirit. _Verguenza_, she had said. How dare she! Anyone should be proud to have Santana Lopez as a part of their family. She refused to sit idly by while her mother and father continued to parade her around like livestock and her abuela continued to speak of her in such a way.

Santana could make her own way in the world. She snuck on to the first train she saw and decided that she would ride it as far as she could. And then she would step off and start a new life, one of her own choosing.

Well, perhaps it wouldn't be exactly of her choosing. Santana didn't anticipate that the train she chose would be one that happened to be carrying a circus.

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><p>Brittany Pierce and Michael Chang were the first people she encountered as she eventually came out of hiding in one of the middle cars. Her plan had been to blend in as much as possible but the fact that Santana found herself in a car occupied by half a dozen people in hammocks strung across the car at varying angles indicated that it wouldn't be quite so simple.<p>

"Who are you?" a tall blonde asked. "Are you new? What's your talent?"

The man standing next to her nudged her with his elbow. "Easy, Brittany," he said. He had a calm and friendly face and it calmed Santana's nerves. "I didn't know we picked up any new performers back in Cincinnati," he commented knowingly.

"Performers?" Santana asked before she could stop herself. "I mean - yes, performers, of course," she added, straightening her back and raising her chin.

"I'm Mike," the man smiled. "This is Brittany," he continued. The blonde waved. "And_you_ are a runaway."

"I beg your pardon," Santana scoffed. "I am not a runaway. I'm a," she paused, fishing for a word.

Mike wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Save it, kid," he said. "You're not the first person who's tried to run away and join the circus."

"I'm not a child," Santana replied. Brittany was smiling at her, her face kind and open. "I did not actually realize that this was a circus train."

"Do you think Puck will let her stay?" Brittany asked Mike. "Can we keep her, d'ya think? She's really pretty," she said, her smile widening.

"Do you have any talent?" he asked Santana. "Me and Brittany are acrobats," he said.

"I didn't really prepare for -"

"Well Puck likes a lady who's easy on the eyes," he interrupted, shrugging.

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><p>"Absolutely not."<p>

"But Puck -"

"Brittany, I can barely afford to keep all of the people who actually _work_ for me. I can't let you keep every stray you find hiding out in your car."

"Puck, she's not a puppy. She's Santana and she's really nice and she's really pretty and I bet there's somethin' she can do."

Mike leaned over towards Santana, who had been mostly quiet up to this point. It was late and she was very tired and the fatigue resting in her limbs left her unable to do much except glare at the man who kept leering at her inappropriately. And what kind of gentlemen was named _Puck_ anyway?

"Can you do anything? Maybe you can dance or you can sing? You could help with the animals," Mike said.

"Honestly, I would just like a ride," Santana replied, clutching at her long skirt. "I was not aware that this was a circus train when I boarded it, so if you could please just drop me off at your next destination, that would be preferable to…_this,_" she finished. There was absolutely no chance that Santana Lopez was going to be a member of the circus. To go from her comfortable life with her family, despite their numerous flaws, to the circus? Never.

"What's that accent?" Puck asked, eyeing her from over the top of his desk. He propped his feet up.

"If you must know, my family is Puerto Rican," she said. She rolled her eyes, ignoring the nagging voice in her head telling her how rude and improper she was being.

"Noah, what's going on?" came a new voice. A small woman walked into the room, her hair long as it curled over her shoulders. She wore a simple dress and the air of someone who deigned themselves to be the most important person in any room (it was a familiar stance for Santana, after all.)

"Got another runaway," Puck said. "Immigrant," he said, nodding towards Santana, who scoffed.

The woman turned towards her and smiled slightly. She sat down on the front of the desk carefully, her fingers brushing over one of Puck's calves. The traincar shuddered slightly and Santana shuddered with it, blaming her reaction on the movement of the train and not on the way that the woman was looking at her. "Can she do anything?" the woman asked.

Puck shrugged. "Says she just wants —"

"I can sing," Santana interrupted quickly. "I'm a singer."

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><p>Rachel was spectacular. She could sing <em>and<em> she was a trapeze artist. She had hesitantly agreed to let Santana stay as a singer, but made it clear that _she_ was to remain the lead singer.

"I'm the star of the show," Rachel had said. Mike and Brittany had both nodded, the latter sending Rachel a soft smile and a wink that made her blush.

Santana found her insufferable. Rachel was loud and demanding and it very quickly wore on Santana's nerves. But she couldn't deny that Rachel was talented and she was very good at what she did — singing powerfully in a way that took Santana's breathe away and brought tears to her eyes; balancing on top of her swing while she performed, dancing across the small bar and wrapping her legs around the ropes until she was hanging upside down. Her thighs were toned as the small skirt that covered them fell down, her leg muscles flexing and shuddering as she moved. It was improper and indecent that Santana should find the sight so intoxicating but she couldn't help herself.

"Do you want to learn?" Rachel called out, sitting down carefully on her swing. Her arms slid up and held the ropes tightly.

They were the only two people left in the tent, others having retreated to their own tents and quarters to drink together. Some of them would be having sex no doubt and Santana had no interest in listening to Brittany and Mike do _that_ again. She was in the big tent to avoid having to hear such things and Rachel was there to practice, so it seemed.

"No," she called out simply, running her hands over the top of her skirt.

Rachel smiled. "Come on, I'll teach you," she said. "Your singing is lovely, I must admit, but you would be much more valuable if you had some other skills as well."

She pumped her legs, shaking until she managed to swing over to one of the ladders. She pulled herself up on the platform there. "Please, Santana?"

"I'd like to keep the use of all of my limbs, thank you very much."

"I won't drop you, I promise."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

And then Rachel did the worst thing imaginable — she pouted. She frowned sadly and furrowed her brow, her bottom lip sticking slightly out. Her arms were still clutching the ropes of her swing and Santana watched her muscles flex again.

She licked her lips. "Fine," she sighed. Santana climbed the ladder quickly, standing on the platform uncertainly. It was small and there was barely enough room for her and Rachel to stand together; their sides were pressed together and Santana could feel Rachel's breathe across her neck.

"Alright," Rachel said, "now sit down. Hold on the ropes tightly."

"That's it?" Santana wondered, eyeing Rachel warily.

"That's it," Rachel nodded. "And don't look down."

Santana shook her head, moving back over to the ladder. "This was a bad idea."

Rachel grabbed her wrist. "Wait."

"What?"

"I won't let you fall. I promise."

Santana's hands shook and her her legs felt weak, but she let Rachel lead her back to the swing anyway. The way that Rachel looked at her sometimes — it robbed her of her free agency and drove her mad.

Rachel's arm was firm around her waist as Santana slowly sat down on the thin bar of the swing, clutching a rope with one hand and Rachel's arm with the other (if she was going down, she was taking Rachel with her). The swing moved slightly, but Rachel was stronger than she appeared and she steadied it before sitting next to Santana and pulling her legs from the platform.

The swing moved then and Santana lurched forward, grabbing the rope on her side tightly. Rachel still had an arm around her waist, holding her still.

"I've got you," Rachel whispered, lips pressing against her ear wetly.

Santana opened her eyes then. They were swinging lightly in the center of the tent. They were so very high up and everything looked tiny from their perch. She could understand why Rachel liked it — they were in the middle of everything and there was no way that anyone could possibly look at anything else besides her, high above the clowns and the animals, floating up across nothing with just two ropes to keep her there.

Rachel's side pressed against hers and their knees bumped. She moved her legs and they continued to swing. She kept an arm around Santana's waist.

"See?" she smiled. "This isn't quite as bad as you anticipated it to be."

"No," Santana replied shakily, glancing over at the woman next to her. Rachel's smile was gentle, her eyes shining and impossibly close. "I suppose that it isn't _too_ bad."

The only lights left in the tent were the small lanterns that the circus-hands had forgotten to dim and Santana could hear the sounds of the acrobats outside celebrating. Though it wasn't quite where she envisioned herself, Santana found that it definitely wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.

When Rachel pumped her legs and the swing moved faster and further, gliding through the air, that also wasn't quite as bad as she expected it to be. And when Rachel leaned across the small bar they were sitting on, her palm resting strongly on Santana's hip, and pressed her lips against Santana's, she decided that the circus _definitely_ wasn't bad at all. It was very wrong and very dangerous, but it certainly was not bad.

Santana would never find a suitable husband, but kissing Rachel on the trapeze seemed a much better choice anyway.


	2. Broader Shoulders

Prompt: _I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders. (Rachel/Santana)_

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><p>"I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders."<p>

Santana wiped at her eyes quickly, scoffing. The steps leading up to the front doors of the school were cold and her ass was freezing. As if that weren't bad enough, now she had Rachel fucking Berry flitting around to piss her off.

"It's a Jewish proverb," Rachel continued quietly, sitting down next to Santana.

"I don't care," Santana said immediately, pulling her legs up closer to her body. It was cold and it would probably start snowing soon, which was just her luck. Like everything else didn't suck, she was going to end up walking home in the damn snow.

"Horrible things happen, Santana," Rachel continued, shifting closer to her. "And we can't change them or take them back -"

"No, seriously, I don't fucking care," Santana said. And it was true — she really didn't care. Ever since the accident -

_No._

She wasn't going to think about _that_ and she definitely wasn't going to talk to Rachel Berry about it. "Go bother someone else," she scowled.

"I'm not going to do that," Rachel said. She moved the last inch until she was sitting next to Santana, their knees brushing and their elbows bumping. "You need broader shoulders to get through this and in the meantime, I'm going to lend you mine."

"Fuck off," Santana cried, her voice cracking. "I don't need them."

"They're going to be here anyway."


	3. Silence and Snow

I love getting drabble prompts, so feel free to drop into my Tumblr (link in my profile) and request things or just say hi. :)

Prompt from purrpickle: "If_ you must know, I'm using a purposefully timed pause to encourage you to continue talking. Now, please stop distracting me from my silence."_

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><p>"If you must know, I'm using a purposefully timed pause to encourage you to continue talking. Now, please stop distracting me from my silence."<p>

"Did - did you just tell me to shut up?"

Rachel shook her head, tightening her scarf around her neck and kicking at the snow beneath the bench they were sitting on. She felt ice on the sidewalk underneath the snow. "On the contrary, Santana, I'm encouraging you to speak by attempting to maintain a casual but friendly silence, which I am hoping that you will fill with whatever is on your mind."

"Really? Because you're talking a hell of a lot," Santana said. "I'd hate to be here when you _weren't_ trying to be quiet."

Rachel sighed, saying nothing. She shrugged. "You're the one who called me and I thought that - well I don't know what I thought, I suppose. That you needed a friend?"

"Whatever, Berry. I honestly have no idea what the fuck I was thinking," Santana muttered, standing up. "Next time, don't talk so much."

She started walking away then, stuffing her hands in her pockets. One of her boots slid suddenly as she stepped on a fresh patch of ice and her leg flailed out in front of her. "Fuck," she yelled, landing on her ass in the snow, slush instantly soaking her coat and jeans.

Rachel tried, really she did. She tried to find some sympathy and understanding for Santana, who was scowling as she stood back up, but all Rachel could do was laugh.

Santana glared at her. "Shut up," she growled. She tried to brush some of the snow off of her pants, but she stepped on more ice instead and teetered uncertainly for a moment. Rachel laughed harder. "Shut the fuck up," she repeated.

Rachel giggled and Santana started muttering, glancing around for a rock or maybe a squirrel or something she could throw at Rachel. All she found was snow and she figured that it would do.

Santana grabbed a pile of snow with both of her hands, rolling it around and quickly tossing it at Rachel, who screamed and jumped up, sliding across the very ice she had felt earlier.

"Fuck yes," Santana cried. "Headshot, bitch," she added as snow and slush seeped down Rachel's hair and face.

Rachel struggled to stand up, narrowing her eyes, and decided to retaliate by aiming a snowball right at Santana's smirking face.

(And taking her home for some hot chocolate afterwards.)


	4. She'll Never

Prompt from anonymous: _Rachel/Santana based around the song "I'd Do Anything (Soldier's Lament)" by John Butler Trio._

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><p>It's her birthday. It's her first fucking birthday and Santana's going to miss it. Rachel's going to have picked her out a cute little pink cake with white frosting and red flowers that happens to somehow be completely vegan. Rachel will put her in a beautiful frilly little dress and will fix her hair up with barrettes and ribbons that match her little shoes. God, what is Rachel doing to their daughter while she's away?<p>

Rachel will keep her in her lap all day, will hold her tightly as Quinn and Brittany bring out her birthday cake. Rachel will smile gently and kiss the tops of her head before she helps her blow out the candles. They'll all sing _happy birthday_ while Puck plays his guitar. They'll help her unwrap her gifts while she claps and smiles and laughs, her fingers reaching out to dabble in the frosting in front of her.

What Santana wouldn't do to be there, to hold her and kiss her cheeks and fix her hair the way it's _supposed _to be done. But fuck, just to be there. She's never even going to get to see her daughter in person, is never going to get to sing her to sleep and read her stories and dress her up in awesome clothes.

Will she know Santana? Will Rachel hide all of the pictures and never mention her again? Will she get remarried to someone else that _her_ daughter will call "mom" or "dad" while Santana fades away as a distant memory? No, she would never do that and Santana knows that. But it won't fucking be the same. Their daughter will never really _know_ her. And shit, Rachel's heart is going to fucking break.

Santana hears frantic voices around her and she struggles to open her eyes, her fingers pressing against the open wound in her side. There's blood everywhere. Fuck, it's seeping through her shirt and it's clinging to her hands and it's staining the dirt beneath her. She can feel it, draining out of her body and taking everything she loves with it.

She'll be called a hero, maybe. But Santana will never get to kiss Rachel again; she'll never to get to lay her head on Rachel's chest and listen to her hum while Santana slides her fingers across her stomach and past the waistband of her shorts. She'll never get to tell Rachel that she loves her one last time; she'll never even get to say it to their daughter. Fuck, she'll never —


	5. Promises

This is a companion drabble to the previous one.

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><p>Santana never broke her promises. She promised to kick the ass of anyone who so much as looked at Rachel wrong and she did. She promised that she would give Rachel a beautiful child and she did. She promised to always remember their anniversary and she always did because she said Rachel could be kinda scary when she was mad. She promised to come home and she did (after her first tour.)<p>

She promised to come home this time, too. When the notice came, Santana ran her palms over Rachel's stomach and kissed her temple and promised that she would come home to her, to _them_. And Rachel believed her because she needed to and because Santana had never broken a promise to her.

When Rachel's water broke, Quinn was the one who took her to the hospital. And all she could think in the delivery room was that it should have been Santana holding her hand and brushing the hair out of her face.

It was Brittany who was there when their daughter said her first word — _mama_. And Rachel's heart broke because it should have been Santana that she was speaking to. Santana should have been the one scooping mashed green beans into her mouth when she said it.

Puck and Brittany were both there when she took her first steps. And it should have been Santana. Rachel had given birth, but that little girl was just as much Santana's as she was Rachel's. And Santana was missing _everything_.

But Santana promised that she would home soon. She was going to miss their daughter's first birthday, but she would be home just a few weeks after that._She promised._ She was going to come home and kiss their daughter and sing her lullabies in Spanish.

Santana never broke her promises to Rachel. Until she did; until soldiers came to her door and told her what happened and she couldn't even break down because she had a one-year-old resting on her hip, a beautiful little girl with Santana's eyes and lips and obsession with running her fingers through Rachel's hair.

She clung to Santana's pillow because it still smelled like her and she cried herself to sleep. She woke up in the morning with a hollow heart and reminders of Santana all around her. It was the only promise that Santana had ever broken and now all Rachel had were the leftover pieces.


	6. Kisses

rockinrye: _a drabble where neither member of the good ship pezberry dies and they kiss a lot._

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><p>Santana greets Rachel at her locker in the morning with a kiss. She's not whipped; she just really likes the way Rachel's bottom lip tastes when she pulls it between her teeth.<p>

"What was that for?" Rachel asks, smiling.

Santana shrugs, grabbing Rachel's math and chemistry textbooks. She's really not whipped; it's just that if she carries Rachel's books, then Rachel will lean up and kiss her in thanks.

"I have a question," Santana says, leading Rachel away from her locker towards class.

"What is it?"

Santana stops them at the end of the hallway, glancing around to make sure that no one is around. She would never live this down if someone saw and heard her. She takes a deep breathe.

Rachel looks around nervously. "Santana, what is it?" she asks, biting at her lip and distracting Santana, who started thinking about kissing Rachel again.

Santana slid Rachel's books on to the windowsill, wrapping her arms around Rachel's shoulders and kissing her again. Rachel responded immediately, her own hands slipping around Santana's hips to rest on her lower back.

"This is totally lame," Santana mutters against Rachel's lips, surging forward and pulling Rachel against her, "but will you be my Valentine?"

She feels Rachel smile. She's not whipped; romantic declarations just really get Rachel going and that means that Santana gets more kisses.

"You're so whipped, Lopez," she hears Puck call out.

"Shut up, Puckerman!" she yells, pulling away from Rachel slightly. "I'll kick your fucking ass."

Rachel rolls her eyes and kisses the corner of Santana's mouth lightly. "Of course I'll be your Valentine."


	7. More

Rachel dug her fingernails into Santana's back until she cried out.

_"More."_

Santana retaliated by biting Rachel's neck and pushing her fingers deeper.

_"Harder."_

Rachel's hips bucked and her legs tightened around Santana's hips.

_"Faster."_

Rachel's thighs were sticky. Santana curled her fingers and they quivered.

_"Please."_

Santana smirked, nipping at Rachel's bottom lip.

"Well, since you asked nicely."

Rachel threaded her fingers through Santana's hair, tugging her closer.

_"Don't stop."_

Rachel's kisses were wet and sloppy. She cried out.

"Just come already."

Rachel wrapped her arms around Santana's shoulders, flipping them over.

_"My turn."_

"About damn time."

Rachel slid her thigh between Santana's legs.

_"Shut up."_


	8. Lunch Money

Thanks for the reviews and stuff, guys, and for all of the new prompts. I'll be working my way through them as I can. :)

Prompt from anonymous: BadGirl!Rachel and Nerd!Santana

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><p>"Hey, babygirl."<p>

"Oh my god, what the fuck are you wearing?" Santana laughed, sliding her fingers against Rachel's collar. "Is this real leather?"

"Of course not! I would never — I mean, nah," she drawled, leaning against the door next to Santana. She crossed her arms. "Sup?"

Santana laughed even harder. "Oh god, you're actually doing this."

"Shut up," Rachel hissed. "You're ruining the illusion."

Santana rolled her eyes. "The illusion was never really that strong to begin with."

"Give me your lunch money," Rachel said suddenly, grabbing Santana's arm and glaring at her.

"You are the worst at this."

Rachel frowned. "You're not doing a very good job at being a nerd."

Santana scoffed. "Comic books, The Avengers, Call of Duty," she leaned towards Rachel. "Pocket protectors," she grinned.

Rachel threw her arm over Santana's shoulders, guiding her towards the cafeteria. "I really do need to borrow some lunch money," she said.

"You'll have to come and get it," Santana smirked. "You might have to rough me up a little bit."

"Only if you promise to tell me more about comic books."

"I can totally do that. Sam just gave me a copy of — I mean," Santana muttered. Rachel laughed and she pushed her away slightly.

"Oh no you don't," Rachel laughed, sliding her hands over Santana's hips and leading her towards the empty choir room. "I'm not done with you."


	9. Apologies

Prompt from purrpickle: _Something made Rachel look out her window._

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><p>Something made Rachel look out her window. It was a very loud and very obnoxious<em>something<em>, particularly because it was three in the morning and anything above a quiet whisper was loud and obnoxious.

It sounded like -? Santana wouldn't (maybe.)

"Open the fucking window, Berry!"

Rachel sighed heavily, rolling out of bed. She took her time opening the window. "Santana, what are you doing?" she hissed, hoping that her dads wouldn't hear the noise.

"Waiting for you to let me in," Santana yelled. "I'm freezing my ass off out here and that's not really a good look for me so get your cute little ass down here and open the door."

"There is absolutely no way that I am letting you in my house," Rachel said. "As…_nice _as this gesture is, I'm still really mad at you."

"Come on," Santana replied, juggling two iPod speakers in one hand. "I got the music and I'm outside the window like that stupid movie you like. You love that shit," she added. "What more do you fucking want from me?"

"An apology would be nice."

The porch light flipped on and the front door opened.

"Santana, what on earth are you doing? It's three in the morning," Rachel heard Leroy say. She leaned against the windowsill.

"I'm trying to serenade your stubborn daughter," Santana said.

"I don't really think _Let's Get It On_ is an appropriate song to play for my daughter when her fathers are home," he replied.

Santana smirked, catching Rachel's eye. "Those are just my honest feelings."

"Go home, Santana," Leroy sighed. "You can come back and talk to Rachel another time."

"Oh, I'll be back," Santana nodded. "I have all of Marvin Gaye's songs."

"Bring an apology back with you."

"We'll get there. I still have a lot of music to get through."


	10. City of Sin

Prompt from anonymous: _"A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume." Two star crossed lovers meet in the city of sin. (Rachel/Santana AU)_

This one got away from me. I blame Santana's outfit for "Smooth Criminal" and Lea Michele's existence.

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><p>"I don't have time for this, Sam."<p>

"This one is really good," he said, tipping his hat up to look at Santana. She was as well-dressed as always, a black fedora sitting on top of her long wavy hair, a small red feather attached to it, a bright color that matched the pocket square in her jacket. Sam could see the edge of her suspenders as she brought her hands to her waist to glare at him.

"You said that about the last one and she was shit," she said. She walked across her office, pulling the blinds on the windows up. The casino was busy, busier than usual, showgirls wandering around between their sets and keeping the men entertained.

"You have to replace her eventually," Sam muttered. "You need someone who can sing and dance and lead the girls."

"No one can replace Brittany," she replied, pressing her hand to the window. Brittany should have been down there, helping her build up business. Brittany was better with people than she would ever be.

"She's not coming back, yanno," Sam said. " Schuester made sure of that. What you have to do now is beat him, show him who's boss. And you start by stealing his customers; leave him penniless begging down the strip for handouts," he grinned. "Wait 'til he can't pay back his debts, let Tony take care of him."

"Yeah, alright. But if she's not the one," Santana warned, leaving her threat unfinished because she could (Sam knew better than to cross her.)

* * *

><p>"So let me guess this straight: you expect me to believe that you found some great talent here? This bar probably hasn't done good business since before the Prohibition."<p>

"Just give her a chance," Sam rolled his eyes. He pulled his coat off and hung it over the back of his seat, dropping his hat on the table in front of him. He raised his hand and signaled for a waiter. "I'll get you a glass of wine."

"No thanks," she scoffed. "They probably only got the cheap stuff in this dump. I can tell from the way it smells in here."

Sam shrugged, ordering a glass for himself. "Suit yourself."

Eventually, Santana gave in and agreed to have a glass of wine. Right about the time her drink arrived, the lights dimmed and a spotlight lit up in the center of the small stage. A man sat down at the piano silently, glasses perched on his face and no expression to speak of.

And then _she_ came out, a small brunette who barely managed to take up any space on the stage but still somehow sucked all of the air out of the room and commanded everyone's attention.

Santana studied her quickly, taking a sip of her wine. She was beautiful, her hair slightly curled around her face, a long red dress clinging to her body in a practically indecent way. She had full lips and big brown eyes and Santana was pretty sure that she didn't even need to hear this girl sing to make her decision because if she sang only _half_ as good as she looked…

She introduced herself as Rachel Berry and started her set with a quick tune, striding across the stage and catching the audience's attention. She spun and she danced playfully before she segued seamlessly into a collection of ballads.

At one point, she sauntered through the audience, ruffling men's hair and pulling on the ties. She knew how to work an audience, that was for sure.

Santana finished off her second glass of wine and had started on her third by the time Rachel made it to her and Sam. To her surprise, Rachel draped herself across Santana, slipping an arm around her shoulders and inside the back of her shirt. Her hands were warm and soft on her skin and Santana finished her third glass of wine quickly Rachel sang directly to her for almost an entire song, continuing to brush her fingers over the back of Santana's neck. If she had been wearing one of her ties, she would have loosened it.

She leaned down and kissed Santana's cheek before she stood back up, tipping Santana's hat off her head and playfully winking as she dropped it atop her own head and sauntered up to the stage.

It was the kind of thing that would get the two of them in a lot of trouble if they were in any place but Las Vegas and she were anyone but Santana Lopez.

She leaned over to Sam, stealing his glass of wine and taking a sip. She nodded at him firmly.

"Yeah?" he smiled.

"Yeah," Santana said. She dropped a few bills on the table as she stood. "But get her some new perfume and a better haircut first."

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><p><em>He<em> wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulders as she stepped offstage, pulling her into her dressing room quickly. His hair was slicked back off of his face and his tie was loose. He smelled like sweat and perfume that wasn't hers and she knew exactly what he had been doing.

"So?" he asked, grinning easily.

Rachel shrugged. "They're hooked."

Will nodded, pulling her closer. "And why wouldn't they be? You're a star, kid."

Rachel pulled Santana's stolen hat off and ran her fingers around the brim. "Right," she said quietly. She bit her bottom lip.

"You know what to do."

Rachel nodded.


	11. Before and After

This was the first prompt that I ever got for military!Pezberry and it doesn't exist in the same universe as the other two drabbles.

Prompt from captain-lopez on Tumblr: _Rachel and Santana meet at training camp for the military and again after they're both sent home._

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><p>Santana doesn't really like Berry the first time she meets her in the mess hall. She's loud and kind of short (seriously, how does she even keep up in drills?) and Santana is annoyed almost immediately. They're in different units anyway, which means she won't see Berry much, so she decides to just suck it up and deal with her at meals because Quinn has decided that the two of them are going to be social and network. (That's what she says, but Santana is pretty sure that Quinn's just brought her over here because she thinks Berry's kind of cute.)<p>

"It's nice to meet you," Berry says, ducking her head slightly and oh god, is she blushing? (Okay, maybe she is a little cute.)

"Whatever," Santana replies, shrugging. Quinn shoots her a glare and Santana rolls her eyes. "Hi," she tries again.

Berry holds out her hand and their palms slide against each other. Her skin is soft and smooth and Santana kind of likes it - it's a nice change of pace from the wood and rope and dirt she usually has to touch. They're all really rough and they leave her with raw palms and bloody fingers. But Berry is soft.

Santana runs into Berry in the shower after she's just spent all afternoon crawling through the mud and climbing obstacles out in the hot sun. Dirt and grass stick to her white tank top and she wrinkles her nose as she finds mud caked to the ankles of her cargo pants.

When she turns around, Berry is standing there. She's breathing heavily and there's sweat clinging to her forehead, sticking to her skin and making the edges of her hair curl and frizz as it attempts to escape her ponytail. She's upset. Santana's spent all of two weeks having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with her and even she can tell that something is wrong. (For fuck's sake, Berry's even kind of cute when she's upset, when her brow is furrowed and she's out-of-breathe and her face is pale.)

Usually that look only means one thing. Quinn had that same brief flash of _what if_ and _oh fuck _and _saying goodbye is the hardest part_. It's a hard resigned look that resonates both strength and fear. Shit.

Santana doesn't want to ask but she does anyway. Berry's kind of nice, okay? Kind of nice and kind of soft and Santana's not so heartless. "You okay?"

Berry looks up at her through thick lashes, her eyes large and dark. She nods.

"Suit yourself," Santana says. She shrugs, pulling at her belt. It's late and she really just wants to have a shower and go to bed and if Berry doesn't want to talk, then that's fine with her. She's not concerned that the next time she sees Berry, she might be in a coffin on a plane coming home to her family or worse, lying in her own blood in the middle of the desert.

But her hands shake as she struggles with the latch, her fingers slipping twice as she tries to loosen the buckle of her belt. Her hands shake and it gets a little bit harder to breathe.

"Here," Berry says gently. "Let me help."

Smooth hands replace hers suddenly, the softness of Berry's fingers sliding against her own as she pulls Santana's belt open with no problem.

Berry's palms slide over her hips and Santana lets herself be pushed against the lockers when Berry leans up to kiss her. Berry's lips and stomach and thighs are all as soft as she thought they would be. She curls two fingers inside her and kisses her and holds her in place as her body gives out and she almost drops to the floor.

"Rachel," she gasps. _Rachel_. When she says her name, it makes it real.

The next day, Berry is gone, her whole unit sent away quickly. Two weeks later, Santanas unit follows and while she doesn't exactly go looking for Berry, she keeps her eyes open and stems the rush of disappointment she feels every time she fails to spot that familiar dark hair and the softness that is Rachel Berry.

xxxxx

It's so stupid. They've put this label on her, this stupid fucking label that suddenly changes everything. She can see it on the faces of the doctors and the psychiatrists and the nurses and even the civilians, as if they have some right to judge and pity her because of one label.

PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Which is ridiculous because surely she should be allowed to have some sort of feelings and reaction to all the shit that she's seen and done and been through.

So maybe she has nightmares and loud noises tend to make her hit the floor — a car backfiring or the sound of a baseball hitting a hit or a glass dropping to the floor an shattering into six dozen pieces, broken and covered in blood that soaks through her shirt and drips down her arms and falls off of her fingers and on to the body of a small child that's been hit and —

She's here, okay? She's at this stupid support group, isn't she? That should be enough without the labels and the feigned civilian sympathy. They weren't there and they don't know and they have no right to judge her (but they do.)

Santana crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at anyone who even looks like they might sit next to her. There's a guy in the corner, sitting in a wheelchair, one leg resting against the floor and the other cut off at the knee. She looks him over. Land mine, she decides.

There's a woman sitting next to him, her eyes hard but her face completely blank. She's fidgeting uncomfortably and toying with the hems of her sleeves as her legs bounce. A man wipes his brow and another shifts awkwardly. Another woman sits stone still except for her eyes, which sweep over every inch of the room. Someone moves their chair, the legs squealing as they slide across the tile, and the woman jumps.

Does she look like them? she wonders.

And then _she _walks into the room, a sling supporting her left arm. She spots Santana and a smile spreads over her face, but it's smaller than Santana remembers, small and dull.

Santana can't fucking believe it. All the times she looked for her and now here she is, right when Santana is all busted and fucked up. She even has the urge to get up and hug the other woman, but she pushes that down because she should not he so happy to see_her_.

She settles for letting the other woman sit next to her. "Berry," she greets, a smirk playing at her lips. It feels strange, to smirk, but it feels okay with Berry.

Berry smiles slightly and reaches out with her free hand. "Santana," she says. "Call me Rachel, please."

Rachel's fingers are rough as they glide over her wrist.

"Rachel," she nods, her own fingers clenching until they brush across Rachel's. "I - shit. It's good to see you," she says, hoping that Rachel understands what she's trying to say.

"It's good to see you, too," Rachel says gently.

She isn't quite so soft anymore, her skin and her gaze harder than Santana remembers. But Santana doesn't mind. It feels good to have someone who gets it.


	12. I'll Choose To Love Her Instead

So, remember in the summary where I said that these would involve other characters and pairings? This is one of those.

Prompt from anonymous: _"Love me now or we'll all just simply turn to stone and crumble slowly. Love me now or I'll choose to love her… instead of you." (Brittberry V. Pezberry)_

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><p>"Kiss me," she said by way of a greeting. Rachel leaned against one of the lockers next to Santana's, resting her binder across her thighs. She gripped the edge tightly, her knuckles turning white.<p>

Santana pulled out a notebook, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She glanced around. The hallway was mostly empty, a few lingering students meandering slowly to their next class. There were still looks, though - people watching her, judging her, not just for who she was but for who she was standing with.

"Not here," she muttered. "Later, Berry."

"No," Rachel shook her head. "Right here, right now," she said. "I'm not going to be your secret anymore. I deserve more than that and if you're not willing to, at the very least, _try_, then I'm not going to keep waiting for you."

"What the fuck?" Santana cried, looking around and shooting off a glare to a freshman who was staring at them. She lowered her voice. "You said you understood. I'm not ready for that, okay? But I love you. You know I fucking love you."

Rachel shook her head, ducking her head. She picked at the edge of her binder. "Will you ever be ready, Santana? Will - will you ever be ready to admit to anyone else that you love me?"

Santana sighed. "Rachel, I can't," she said.

"Then I can't either," Rachel replied, standing up straight and walking away. She kept her head up as she stepped away from Santana.

"Berry! Fuck, _Rachel!_"

Rachel kept walking until she crashed into someone - someone tall and lean; who smelled faintly of coconut body wash and fresh laundry; who took her hand in the middle of the hallway and smiled at her.

"You okay?" Brittany asked, leaning down to kiss the side of Rachel's mouth.

Rachel nodded. "I am now."


	13. Not Really A Fight

Prompt from anonymous: _The Unholy Trinity fighting over Rachel._

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><p>"Listen, Fabray, that hobbit? The one with the legs for days and the loud mouth that doesn't shut up? She's mine."<p>

Quinn rolled her eyes, turning back to the book she was reading. "Keep telling yourself that, Santana," she said.

"I'm not telling myself. I'm telling you," Santana sneered. "Just back off my girl afores I end you."

"She's not _your_ girl, Santana," Quinn replied. She looked up, meeting Santana's eyes and and smiling, her features tinged with the hint of a threat. "And the fact that you're here trying to scare me away means that you know that I have a shot with her. You're going to mess up and you know it."

"And you're such a good girl?" Santana scoffed. "That's bullshit and we both know it. You're just as fucked up as I am. At least I'm fucking honest about it and I don't hide behind babydoll dresses and cute shoes. Seriously, you dress like a seventy-year-old."

Quinn glared at her, her fingers clenching around the edges of her book. She pursed her lips.

"The truth is," Santana continued, leaning back and casually surveying her nails, "you and me are the same, Q."

"I won't hurt her."

"You already have."

"So have you!"

"Are you guys fighting over Rachel again?" Brittany wondered, wandering into the choir room.

Santana crossed her legs, pulling a nail file out of her backpack. "No," she said simply.

"It's not really a fight," Quinn added, smirking and beginning to read again.

"You're right," Brittany nodded, swiping her thumb over her bottom lip. Rachel entered the room with a smile and Brittany waved at her, beaming. Rachel blushed slightly and Brittany smiled at Quinn and Santana sweetly. "It's not."


	14. Chicken Noodle

Prompt from tiny-sized on Tumblr: _Santana is sick and whiny and Rachel takes care of her._

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><p>"The fuck is this?" Santana groaned, scrunching her face up. She immediately held out the mug Rachel had given her, swinging it precariously in front of her. "Take it back."<p>

"It's tea made from ginger root with lemon and agave nectar," Rachel said, carefully sitting on the bed next to Santana and taking the mug from her. "It will help you get better."

"'s stupid," Santana muttered, coughing slightly. "I'd rather just stay sick than drink that shit. Bring me coffee."

Rachel brushed her fingers over Santana's forehead, pushing her hair off of her face. Her skin was warm and clammy and Rachel frowned. "Coffee won't aid in your recovery from this illness," she said, sliding her hand over Santana's waist to lean against the bed. "You are hereby limited to hot tea, juice, and soup."

Santana started to scoff, but it was quickly reduced to another coughing fit. "I want a cheeseburger."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "No, Santana," she huffed. "But I'll give you a choice: I can make a simple potato soup or I can add carrots, turnips, kale, and other vegetables if you'd prefer."

Santana crossed her arms. "Chicken noodle."

"I'm not making you something that includes meat."

"Chicken noodle. From the can."

"Santana, that kind of soup is incredibly unhealthy, not to mention the fact that -"

"Chicken noodle," Santana groaned.

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "If you drink the tea I brought you, then I will go to the store and get you a can of that disgusting condensed soup."

"Bitch," Santana muttered. "Okay, deal."

Rachel kissed Santana's forehead, standing up a grabbing the pile of tissues that had accumulated on the bedside table and heading towards the living room.

"Love you," Santana called out, picking up the ginger root tea and sniffing it. "Bitch."

"I love you, too, Santana."


	15. The Lonely Hearts Club

Prompt from tiny-sized on Tumblr: _(not yet established) Pezberry; Santana asks Rachel out for Valentine's Day_

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><p>"Is chocolate vegan?"<p>

"I - I'm sorry?" Rachel squeaked, turning around. She shoved her calculus textbook in her locker.

Santana rolled her eyes, leaning against the locker next to Rachel's. "Is chocolate vegan? That's what you give people, right?"

"Give people for what?" Rachel asked. "And in answer to your question, there _are_certain kinds of chocolate that are vegan, but they are typically more expensive as they fail to include any unnecessary -"

Santana held up her hand. "Okay, I'm going to stop you. That's way too much fucking work," she said.

"Too much work for what?" Rachel wondered, pulling her government book up to cover her chest.

"How about bling?" Santana tried. "I totally know a guy who'll hook me up."

"Santana, what are you talking about?"

She crossed her arms and squinted at Rachel, tilting her head slightly. "Listen, Berry. Valentine's Day is next week and as awesome as I am, I'm so not down for another _Lonely Hearts Club_ meeting with just myself," she started. "So here's what's going to happen: you're going to wear a smokin' little black dress and I'm going to wear something red with my _fuck me_ pumps."

Santana slammed Rachel's locker shut and she jumped slightly, backing away. Santana took a step closer, grinning. "We'll go out to dinner - my treat - and then if you're lucky, I'll take you back to my place and give you something special, okay?"

"Santana!" Rachel gasped.

"Bling, Berry," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I meant bling."

Rachel gaped.

"Okay, fuck, I'll find vegan chocolate," Santana scoffed. "You're lucky you're kind of hot," she added.

"You could at least call me Rachel," she said, unsure if she should be flattered or offended.

Santana stepped closer still, trailing her hand lightly down Rachel's arm, brushing her fingertips across her wrist. "Oh, I'm _sure _that I will."


	16. What We Need

This is a continuation/companion to the Brittberry versus Pezberry drabble. It also features mention of some Brittana.

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><p>Brittany broke her heart twice. She wrestled a confession of Santana's feelings out of her and then she might as well have stomped on Santana's heart by refusing to leave Wheels for her.<p>

Santana spent every night for a week laying in bed watching Jersey Shore reruns and eating her weight in Ben and Jerry's. And then Rachel Berry showed up, a smile on her face a bag of breadsticks in her hand (Santana never says no to breadsticks.)

Santana could be happy with Rachel. She wasn't Brittany, she was shorter, smaller than Santana. Her hair was different and she wore a different perfume. It was wrong for a while and then it was right. Santana could close her eyes and let Rachel's hand slide up her thigh and it was as right as anyone who wasn't Brittany would ever be.

And then Brittany broke Santana's heart all over again, and just when she was maybe starting to get it glued back together again, when _Rachel _was starting to piece it back together. She swooped in and gave Rachel the kind of public affection that Santana wasn't ready for.

They held hands in the hallway and Brittany would twirl Rachel into the choir room before glee club. Brittany would kiss Rachel in front of anyone and everyone and she didn't care what they said. Rachel blushed every single time Brittany so much as looked at her and it hurt so that much more because it_should _have been Santana. _She _should have been the one Brittany was staring at longingly; _she_ should have been the one making Rachel blush.

"Why would you do that to me?"

Brittany shrugged. "I love you, Santana And she loves you, too," she said simply. "But you couldn't give us what we needed so we got it from each other."


	17. City of Sin 2

This is a continuation of "City of Sin," which is drabble number ten.

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><p>Santana knew. Sam checked Rachel out as soon as she had agreed to come work for Santana. He tailed her for a bit and then came back with the worst news he could have come back with.<p>

Rachel Berry was working for Will Schuester, sleeping with him maybe, if Schuester's reputation was to be believed. It made sense then, that Rachel had been all over Santana during her performance and that she had come to work so readily.

No wonder Sam had found a woman like that "working" in a sleazy dive miles off the strip…

"Miss Lopez?" Rachel asked, peaking in the door to her office. "I've sent the girls home for the night."

Santana leaned back in her office chair. "That's fine," she said. "And I've asked you to call me Santana. Drink?"

Rachel stepped into the office, pushing the door closed behind her. She nodded. "Sure."

Santana decided on wine. She normally liked to finish up the evening with something stronger, but there was just something about sharing a couple of glasses of wine with a beautiful woman that made her decision easy for her.

It was a shame, she thought, turning around and passing Rachel a glass. Rachel really was beautiful, her dark red lips standing out against the darkness if her hair and of the black cocktail dress she had put in after changing out of her uniform.

Why did it have to be Schuester? It could have been Tony or the Fredrick Twins or anybody else. But it was Schuester and that meant that Santana was going to have to send Rachel out on a long ride into the desert with Sam and a pistol.

Santana's gaze swept up over Rachel's legs, tracing the path over her hips and up to her shoulders. Yes, it was a shame.

"What are you thinking about?"

Santana shook her head. "Sorry?"

Rachel was leaning back against Santanas desk, her ankles crossed in front of her. "You look like you have a lot on your mind," she said, taking a sip of her wine.

"It's nothing for you to worry about."

"No?" Rachel asked, sitting her glass down and sliding it away from her.

"No," Santana said simply, shooting Rachel a quick glare.

Rachel's features softened and she looked down. Oh, she was good; Schuester picked a hell of an actress.

Rachel paused for a moment, pursing her lips before she looked back up. She quickly managed to grab Santana's fedora and place it on top of her own head, grinning. "What do ya think?"

"I think you need to stop stealing my hats."

"But this is a good look for me."

It was. It was a very good look, Rachel's pouty lips and perfect hair underneath Santana's favorite hat. She would probably look even better with Santana's crisp white button up covering her smooth skin or Santana's red tie wrapped around her wrists and the bedposts. Damn.

"It's not bad."

"Not bad?" Rachel asked, her fingertips brushing lightly over the buttons of Santana's jacket. When had she gotten so close?

Rachel uncrossed her ankles and stood up straighter, her fingers slowly undoing the lowest button of Santana's jacket. "Is that all? Just 'not bad'?"

Rachel was even closer now, or maybe it was Santana who kept moving. She undid another of Santana's buttons, her palm sliding inside her jacket to rest on her stomach.

"Right," Santana said, her breathe hitching as Rachel's free hand popped open the last button on her jacket. She cleared her throat, her hands sliding against Rachel's outer thighs before she could stop them, pushing the material of Rachel's dress up as they moved. "Not bad," she repeated.

The palm on her stomach moved upwards, running over her stomach and up between her breasts, ghosting lightly over her skin Rachel gripped at her tie, leaning back and pulling Santana with her. She fell back against the desk, her body jerking, Santana's hands slipping further up Rachel's thighs. She licked her lips.

Santana could feel Rachel's breathe against her lips and she raked her nails over Rachel's legs, pushing forward until they separated and Santana could rest between them.

Rachel reached up and pulled the hat off her head, putting it back on Santana. "You're right," she whispered breathlessly. "I think it looks better on you, Santana."

Rachel closed the distance between them, tugging on Santana's tie and refusing to let go. When Santana had two fingers buried inside her, Rachel's grip only tightened on Santana's tie until all she could do was continue to kiss Rachel while she gasped and cried out.

And damn, it was a shame that she wasn't going to get to do this all the time.


	18. Textbooks and Coffee

Rachel and Santana meet in New York when they're both in college. (inspired by -getupinmygrill)

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><p>There was no way that Santana was going to spend eighty dollars on a textbook, no matter how bad she needed it; it was sixty dollars online but that was still way too much for a book called <em>Anthropological Theory: An Introductory History<em>.

Her roommate told her about a bookstore a few blocks from campus that might have a cheaper copy or an older edition that wouldn't be expensive. Anthropology was old stuff, right? So why would it matter if she got an older edition?

Santana browsed through the social sciences section, her finger trailing across the spines of dozens of old books, none of which were even close to the one she needed. Most of them looked like they had been written in the 1800s (and maybe some of them were.)

"Santana?" she heard. "Santana Lopez?"

Of course. Of course it would be her luck. She finally got away from Nowhere, Ohio and made it all the way to New York City, a city of millions of people, and she managed to make it two years before she ran into _her_.

"Hobbit," she said, turning around.

Rachel smiled. "It's lovely to see you," she replied, tucking a psychology book back on the shelf next to her. "How have you been? Are you enjoying the city?"

Santana shrugged. "Yeah, it's cool," she said. "Better than Lima."

Rachel nodded. "Would you - well, would you like to grab a cup of coffee and catch up?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "It's only been two years, Berry. I don't really need to hear about your adventures with Finnept in the big city."

"Actually, it's just me now," Rachel said, her smile faltering only slightly. "Finn has chosen to pursue other personal and career paths."

"Let me guess: boy never even left Lima, not even for a vacation," Santana scoffed. Rachel looked at her expectantly for a moment and she sighed. "Fine," she said. "But you're paying."

Rachel nodded, grabbing Santana's elbow and guiding her away from the bookstore.

xx

New York was a good look and a good attitude on Rachel. She was confident and friendly in a way that didn't feel forced. She managed to only piss Santana off twice, but never for longer than a few moments.

Coffee turned into dinner because it got late and Rachel looked kind of cute with her satchel and her coordinated pen-notebook sets and Santana found that she didn't mind the company or the fact that Rachel was paying.

Dinner turned into a weekly study session because even though they went to different schools, it was good to have someone around to distract her when she needed a break.

"How many times are you going to read that same page, Santana?"

"Until I have it memorized."

"We're going to be here all night."

(Their all-nighters weren't even as bad as they should have been.)

Weekly study sessions turned into trips across town to deliver coffee or an energy drink between classes on long days full of exams and papers to turn in.

"What are you doing here?"

"Brought you a drink or whatever. Figured you'd need it after failing another test."

"You're so kind, Santana. Your belief in me is overwhelming and inspiring."

"I'm here, aren't I? Do you want the damn drink or not?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

(They both knew that Santana always believed Rachel was going to do well.)

Trips across town turned into crashing on couches and waking up in beds with tangled limbs and messy hair. Santana didn't mind, though, because Rachel kept quizzing her on American law and made her food. She didn't mind when Rachel texted her before her exam and wished her luck, either.

"Good luck! I have the utmost confidence that you are going to well on this exam!"

(Santana even thought that Rachel's overuse of exclamation points was okay.)

Crashing on couches turned into into Thursdays spent in their coffee shop lounging on couches and coordinating their scheduled; into Friday nights out at the bar or staying in and watching bad movies; into stolen Saturday afternoon kisses in the park in the spring because Rachel had her hair pulled back off of her face and the wind kept blowing her dress, catching her skirt and twisting it around until Santana couldn't contain herself and she just had to kiss Rachel Berry of all people.

She never did get that textbook, though. (She got something better.)


	19. City of Sin 3

This is a continuation of the "City of Sin" drabbles, i.e. Rachel and Santana are star-crossed lovers in the city of sin (drabbles ten and seventeen.) I'll never really turn it into a full story (because I don't have that kind of time), but "Smooth Criminal" gives me a lot of gangster!Santana feelings that keep channeling themselves into these drabbles.

* * *

><p>"You can't keep her, you know," Puck said, resting his palms against the bar in front of him. They were on a platform, looking out over the pit, keeping an eye in the gamblers.<p>

"I thought you liked her," Santana said, eyeing a man sitting at the blackjack table, sweat dripping down his face and his eyes darting around nervously.

"I do," Puck answered. "But she's working or Schuester. It's bad business."

"She hasn't really done anything," Santana said simply.

"Just 'cause she ain't a very good spy don't mean she still ain't a spy," Puck replied. "People find out about this, they're gonna think you're goin' soft."

Santana scoffed, pointing across the room to the nervous man she had been watching. He wiped the back of his neck with his hankerchief.

She saw Rachel then, talking to Quinn Fabray, one of the other girls who worked for her. She was made up perfectly, her red dress clinging to her curves and her hair curled just slightly.

"Santana?"

"That guy," she said, clearing her throat. "He's up to something."

"You want me to take him out?"

"No, bring him to my office."

xxx

The man was even more nervous than he had been down in the pit, wiping at his forehead and shifting in the chair placed in front of her desk. He crossed his legs and the uncrossed them, fidgeting as he sat in front of her.

Santana just watched him for a few minutes. Let him squirm.

"So, let me guess," she finally started. "Middle-aged husband, two kids and a wife at home," she said. "Money's tight so you thought you'd come out and try to beat the system, earn a little money you could take home and show your old woman, make her_real_ happy," Santana smirked. "Maybe you thought she'd finally push your beds together tonight."

"I — uh, sorry? I don't know what you're talking about," he stuttered, wringing his hands together.

Santana stood up, striding around her desk quickly. "No? Then you weren't just out in my casino trying to change out your cards?"

The man's eyes darted around and he leaned away from her. "N-no."

She struck him, the back of her hand colliding with his cheek harshly. "Don't you dare sit there and lie to me," she hissed. He groaned and before he could do anything, she grabbed his tie and pulled on him, tugging him out of the seat and directly into her desk, his head cracking against the edge of it.

He fell to the ground, crying out. "Fucking bitch," he said.

"Yeah, that's right," Santana replied, digging the heel of her left foot into his neck. His hands gripped at her calves, his fingers trying to grab her and pull her foot off of his windpipe.

"I'm a bitch, and don't forget it," she spat, pressing down harder. "If I see your face anywhere near my casino again, you _won't_ get to leave."

She pulled her leg away finally, opening the door and gesturing towards Puck and Sam. "Get him out of here," she directed.

The man stood up shakily, rubbing his neck and gasping. Puck and Sam each grabbed one of his arms and pulled him out the door, Puck nodding his head at Santana as they passed her.

She fixed her tie.

"S-Santana?"

Rachel was standing in the hallway, looking in shock as Sam and Puck carried the groaning man away.

Santana nodded. "Come in."

Rachel walked in slowly, still looking back at the three men as they left. "Did you do that?" she asked.

Santana slammed the door, making Rachel jump. "Yep," she said. "Caught him cheating."

"That's quite an extreme reaction when you could have just taken away his winnings and kicked him out, couldn't you?"

They were still standing at the door and when Rachel made to walk towards the desk and chairs, Santana grabbed her elbow, keeping her in between Santana's body and the door. She took a step closer.

"He needed to be taught a lesson," she answered. "People think they can play me but I'm not just going to sit here and let them."

Rachel's eyes darted down to her lips. "I just find it to be a bit extreme, that's all."

Santana moved closer still, pressing Rachel's body against the door firmly. She slid her hands up Rachel's slides, her fingers bunching up the material of Rachel's dress as she went. "Vegas is all about extremes, baby," she whispered into the space between them.

Her fingers brushed across Rachel's breasts teasingly as she moved up to her shoulders, running her hands down Rachel's bare arms until she reached her hands. She pulled them up and slammed them against the door over Rachel's head. Rachel's breathe hitched and Santana smirked.

"And _I'm_ all about extremes," Santana told her. She licked her lips, sliding a leg in between Rachel's thighs. "I am Vegas."

Rachel groaned, trying to surge forward and kiss Santana, but she pulled back slightly. "I'm in charge," she said. "You better know that, Rachel. I know everything about this city and I run it."

Rachel nodded quickly. "Kiss me," she gasped. "Please," she added, parting her legs further.

Santana grinned and pressed her lips to Rachel's in a bruising kiss.


	20. Distractions

Basically, Rachel convinces Santana to have coffee with her and some of the glee club and Santana gets distracted. Twice. (Contains spoilers for the two clips from the Michael episode.)

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><p>Santana threw her backpack over her shoulder and slid her sunglasses on as she stepped outside and headed towards her car. She heard footsteps running up behind and she groaned because she knew those heels.<p>

"Santana, wait!"

She knew that voice, too. She walked faster.

"Please! Santana!"

Rachel Berry ran right in front of her, cutting her off. She was deceptively fast, it seemed. "What do you want, Berry?"

Rachel took a moment to brush the hair out of her face. "I was wondering what you were doing after school today."

_You_.

"Going home," Santana said, hitting the button on her keychain to unlock her car.

"I meant, do you have any plans? Blaine, Kurt, Artie and I are going to the Lima Bean for some coffee. We're going to discuss what our strategy for Regionals should be."

"Pass," Santana said immediately, stepping around Rachel and walking towards her car. She pulled the door open and Rachel caught up to her again.

"Why?"

Santana threw her bag in the backseat. "Exactly. _Why_? Why the hell would I go out to coffee with you losers?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You can call us losers as much as you want to, but we all know that you consider us to be your friends."

Santana shrugged. Maybe they were singing more and maybe the way Rachel smiled at her made her smile and yes, she was fine with letting Rachel hold her hand but it was just the song and the moment. "Sure, you keep telling yourself that."

"If you change your mind, and I sincerely hope you do, you know where to find us," Rachel sighed, pulling away and letting Santana shut her door.

xxx

Santana hadn't lied to Rachel. She really was just going home. She had an empty house, a stack of takeout menus, and the cat that curled up on her feet as soon as she sat down on the couch. She didn't even have any homework to do.

She spent all of about ten minutes sitting there flipping through the extensive list of channels she had access to before her phone buzzed.

Berry: "We've only just managed to all get to the Lima Bean and we'll be here for a while if you change your mind."

Seriously? Who texted like that? In complete sentences with proper punctuation and everything?

Coffee sounded good, though. Santana was always up for having coffee at the Lima Bean, a medium mocha with extra whip cream (that Coach Sylvester didn't need to know about) and a muffin. If she just happened to run into the glee losers, well whatever, she was just there for the coffee.

_And Rachel's lips._

* * *

><p>When Santana walked in, she spotted the losers immediately, sitting in the corner at a little table, two of them on each side. She decided to ignore them for now and walked up to the counter to order. She heard Rachel laugh and reminded herself that she was just there for coffee.<p>

"Oh! Santana!" she heard from behind her (and everyone else in the shop likely heard it too.)

Rachel darted in front of her just as she reached the counter. "I'm so glad you made it. Let me," she said, turning to the barista. "A medium mocha with extra whip cream, please. My treat," she added, glancing at Santana. "Because we're friends."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I'm just here for the coffee."

"Of course," Rachel nodded, smiling a she handed the barista her money.

They ended up having to move everyone, the table not small enough to fit more than four people. Kurt and Blaine claimed a couch and Artie parked his wheelchair in the open space across from them, leaving two open chairs and it would just be Santana's luck that they would be right across from each other, meaning that she was going to be facing Rachel; Rachel and her pouty lips and her wavy hair and her stupid poncho that shouldn't have looked that cute on anyone, let alone Rachel Berry.

It turned out to be more fun than Santana expected it to be and definitely more fun than sitting at home with the family cat. They weren't so bad, the glee losers. Blaine wasn't so bad when you got him out of those bowties and Kurt was kind of snarkily judgmental in a way that Santana definitely understood. Even Artie was surprisingly cool when she pushed down the residual urge to wheel him off a cliff.

That left Rachel, who kept sipping her coffee and licking her lips afterwards, her tongue darting out to swipe over the drink that tried to cling to them. Rachel crossed her legs and ran her fingers over knees, drawing attention to the definition in her legs that Santana could see because she had on these unbelievably tight black pants. Her hair was soft and wavy and framed her face perfectly. She was..._cute._

_You bitch._

And then Rachel looked at her, turned her head slightly away from Kurt and looked ahead, catching Santana's eye. She smiled gently and all Santana wanted to do was kiss that "see, I told you it would be fun" look right off her face, to run her hands through Rachel's hair until it was messy and tousled, to lick the tiniest drops of coffee from Rachel's lips and then kiss her.

She almost missed the way Rachel said that she didn't "get" Michael Jackson. Almost. Santana only got to get one threat in before that one tall, kind of creepy-looking Warbler showed up.

"Oh hey Kurt, I didn't recognize you. You are wearing boy clothes for once."

Oh hell no. This smarmy Warbler wasn't going to come into their meeting and insult all of them like that. Maybe they were losers, but they were _her_ losers. It had been a while since she'd gotten to go all Lima Heights on someone, after all.

"Unless you want to join your relatives in prison, that's probably not the best idea. You see, my dad is sort of what you'd call a state's attorney, but if you had a pinata you wanted delivered, I bet he could make sure that got to them."

Seriously? _Seriously?_

Santana sat back down, shooting a look at Artie and then at Rachel. The last thing she needed was legal trouble (her dad would kill her if she got brought home by the cops again).

That Warbler got lucky.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry about what happened after you decided to join us. Prior to Sebastian's arrival, we were all having a very good time."<p>

"Whatever. Not your fault."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's cool. I'm not done with him yet."

"What are you doing?"

Santana didn't text back. There was a Warbler who needed to be taught a lesson, Michael Jackson-style.

* * *

><p>Of course Rachel was there. She was like some kind of hobbit mind-reader or something. She knew Santana's drink order and she knew when Santana was kind of lonely and wouldn't mind hanging out with people. She also knew exactly where Santana was going to go to prove a point to that Sebastian kid.<p>

She watched Rachel's eyes sweep over her body as she walked towards her, meeting her outside the door to the room where the Warblers were practicing with an orchestra (why did they even need an orchesta? Weren't they an acapella group?)

Rachel's eyes trailed over her calves and up over her dark skirt and the black blazer she wore. Rachel took in her hair, which she had let fall in waves down her back, and the fedora on her head. Rachel's eyes were wide and dark by the time Santana reached her.

"What are you doing here?" Santana asked.

"I should ask you the same question."

"I'm getting ready to kick some ass. You?" she smirked.

"Santana, this is a horrible idea," Rachel started. "The fact that you would come all the way out here to start a fight and engage in such -"

Santana stopped listening after that. She hadn't meant to (well maybe she had) but Rachel was kind of distracting.

_Those eyes._

_And those lips._

Rachel kept talking, her tongue peeking out of her mouth occasionally, swiping over her lips to wet them as she ranted. She talked and she talked and Santana just watched her, the way she enunciated every word like it was really important. Her lips looked soft and Santana wondered how she would taste if Santana could just -

Santana kissed Rachel before she knew what she was doing, closing the distance between them easily and bringing her hands to Rachel's waist before sliding her fingers across to rest on her lower back. She didn't even care that she had interrupted Rachel.

Rachel froze for a moment before her whole body softened against Santana's, her hands coming up to Santana's shoulders as she pressed back against Santana's forceful kisses.

Rachel's lips were as soft as she thought they would be, moving against hers slightly. Santana pulled Rachel closer still, her hands pressing into Rachel's back, and Rachel groaned, her lips parting slightly, just enough for Santana to dart her tongue between them for just a moment.

The orchestra stopped playing, the music dying out, and Santana tried to pull away, but Rachel's hands were insistent, gripping at the lapels of her blazer and holding her in place.

"Wait," Santana gasped against Rachel's lips. "Wait."

Rachel seemed to snap back into herself then, her eyes opening and her hands unclenching. "Why? What?" she asked breathlessly. She licked her lips and Santana had to stop herself from kissing her again.

"I have to go - um," Santana swallowed, "I have to go destroy a Warbler."

Rachel nodded. "Right," she muttered. "Well...good luck," she finally said.

She made to step back from Santana, but Santana held her there for a second, smirking. "Can I get a good luck kiss?"

Rachel laughed, leaning up to peck her cheek. "Good luck," she grinned. When Santana opened her mouth to protest, Rachel added, "I might be persuaded to give you another kiss if you win."

Santana pulled back immediately. "Get outta my way. I gots a duel to win."


	21. I'm A Bubble

Just for the record, I have a ton of prompts and I'm slowly working through them as I can between school and my other stories. :)

Prompt from caf-pow: Just get them high and have Rachel go "I'm a bubble".

* * *

><p>"Oh my god, Puck, what the fuck?" Santana cried.<p>

Rachel giggled.

"What?" Puck cried, leaning back on the couch. He opened up a bag of chips, grinning.

"Is she high? Did you get Rachel high?"

Santana dropped on the couch next to her, throwing an arm around Rachel's shoulders. She snapped at Puck. "Well give it here," she said. She leaned over to Rachel. "You okay, babe?"

Rachel nodded, wrapping her arm around Santana's waist and resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "I'm a bubble," she muttered.


	22. Close Enough

Rachel Berry isn't Brittany Pierce. No one is and no one ever could be. Brittany is everything that's beautiful and magical and perfect in the world and no one, no matter how hard they tried, could _ever_ be her. Brittany was pure - but not innocent - in ways that not even she could ever understand. Brittany was the light and she was the wonder and she was all that there was to look to in the miserable fucking world.

She was hope. When Santana had nothing and no one, she had Brittany, and because of that, she had hope. Santana didn't always know what she was hoping for, but it was enough that she could sleep at night and smile when it counted.

Rachel was loud. And she never shut up. She was optimistic, but in the jaded way of someone who's been turned down by one too many casting directors and _needs_ to believe in hope and happiness in order to sleep at night. If she wasn't optimistic that it would be the next one - the next play, the next musical, the next casting director, the next producer - she would have to wake up and realize that she was clinging to a broken dream and that even the most cautious of optimism was way too fucking much.

Santana harbored no such delusions. She didn't cling to the remnants of some busted teenage dream. Brittany was gone and she took all the hope with her and trying to hold on to _anything _was like trying to fucking catch the sun in a glass jar - you could hold it up to the light and make yourself believe for a minute that you had it but as soon as you moved, it was fucking gone.

So maybe Santana drinks a little too much. Maybe she tightens the rubber tourniquet she stole from the clinic just a little too tightly and she waits until her heartbeat pounds in her fingers and her wrist until she sticks the needle in. It's the only thing that makes her alive anymore; it keeps her eyes open and her heart pounding and her blood flowing and even if it's flowing with poison, well at least it's fucking flowing and that's more than Brittany has anymore.

So she clings to it. Santana clings to the only things that she has left. And maybe Rachel's optimism is misplaced and maybe it's fake sometimes, but at least it's something. Rachel's not Brittany, but when Santana closes her eyes and lets the poison do its job, she's close enough. So Santana clings to her, too.


	23. Wedding Dance

Prompt from g6-flying: Rachel and Santana's first dance at their wedding.

* * *

><p>"I just want to say that you look beautiful."<p>

Santana smiled, wrapping an arm around Rachel's waist. She smiled softly. "Not so bad yourself."

Rachel brought her hand up to rest on Santana's shoulder. She grinned. "Thank you for finally agreeing with me that this should be our first dance as a newly married couple," she said.

Santana nodded, smirking. "Uh huh."

"I'm quite sure that it is the most romantic —"

_I've been really tryin', baby _  
><em>Tryin' to hold back these feelings for so long <em>

"Santana!"


	24. Somewhere In Brooklyn

Thanks for all the comments. It's nice to know that people are enjoying these little things I've been doing. They've been a lot of fun. And just so you know, I am still working on _Life or Something Like It_. :)

Prompt from anonymous: _Rachel/Santana/Brittany based on the song "Somewhere in Brooklyn."_

* * *

><p>She was beautiful. There was no other way to describe her, dark skinny jeans tucked into a pair of red and black Nike high tops, a tight leather jacket zipped up over what looked like a wife beater. Her hair was long and wavy, pushed back slightly by the massive headphones on her head. She leaned back on the bench and bobbed her head with the music.<p>

Rachel was licking her lips and sitting down on the bench next to the woman before she even realized it. She sat there awkwardly, waiting for the woman to acknowledge her. A few minutes passed and Rachel finally leaned towards her, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention.

The woman pulled one of the headphones off of her ear and looked at Rachel expectantly. She had strong features, high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Her eyes were dark and her lips were full. _Beautiful._

"What are you listening to?" she asked.

The woman's eyes ran over her body, taking in the sight of her simple jeans and sweater, the cap on her head. "Probably nothing you'd know," she said, grinning. She pulled the headphones all the way off, resting them around her neck, and threw an arm on the back of the bench behind Rachel.

She was right; Rachel didn't recognize the music she heard coming out of the speakers, something that was too fast and furious and far away-sounding in the headphones. All she managed to catch was the guitar and the bass.

She opened her mouth to say something, her cheeks reddening and her face burning under the woman's intense gaze, but she was cut off. "Let me guess, you're more of a Broadway girl," the woman said, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

Rachel laughed nervously. She nodded. "I'm actually on my way to an audition right now," she said. "How could you tell?"

The woman shrugged, her eyes trailing over Rachel's body again. "Too cute to be anything else," she smirked.

The announcer said something, rattling off a train going somewhere that Rachel vaguely recognized as located in Brooklyn. "That's me," the woman said, standing. "See you around," she added.

And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>Brittany was having a horrible day. She was late to her first lecture because her alarm didn't go off and Rachel had left to early to wake her; she spilled coffee all over her new skirt as she stopped on the way to pick up a drink that would help her wake up. She had a test in her second class that she felt woefully unprepared for (so unprepared that she almost wished she had studied more instead of deciding to make out with Rachel last night, even though making out with Rachel was her favorite thing to do.)<p>

Brittany was so frazzled and distracted that she almost managed to walk right into oncoming traffic without even realizing it until strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back on to the sidewalk just as a cab drove by, its horn blaring. She gasped, shaking her head.

"Shit," someone said, their breathe tickling the back of her neck.

The arms released her, hands sliding over her hips and the body pressed against her back stepping away. "Are you okay?"

Brittany nodded, slightly dazed. She turned away, finding a small woman staring up at her (small but not Rachel-small, she noted) with concern. "Yeah, I just...wasn't really paying much attention I guess."

The woman adjusted the collar of her leather jacket, pulling it down slightly. She smiled at Brittany gently, her lips quirking upwards. "It's cool," she waved. "You just gotta watch where you're going, you know? Cab drivers are fucking crazy," she laughed, throwing her hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes.

Brittany grinned. "It's a good thing you were here," she said, unable to tear her eyes away from the woman, her bright smile and her infectious laugh; the way her jeans hugged the soft curve of her hips and thighs.

The woman nodded, glancing over her shoulder at a man standing on the next corner waving her towards him. "I gotta go," she told Brittany, taking a few steps away from her. "Watch where you're stepping!" she called out.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Rach," Brittany greeted, dropping her bag next to the couch and practically collapsing next to Rachel, her limbs flailing around as she stretched her entire body and curled up half on top of her.<p>

"Hi, Britt," Rachel said, laughing and running her hands through Brittany's hair. "Is that coffee on your skirt?"

Brittany nodded, burying her face in the blanket across Rachel's lap. "I had a horrible day," she muttered. "I almost got run over."

"What?"

"It's okay," Brittany reassured her. "This woman stopped me. She was really nice."

Rachel frowned, leaning over as she brushed the hair out of Brittany's face. She kissed her cheek. "You have to be careful, sweetie," she whispered. "I don't think I could take it if something happened to you."

Brittany rolled over, grabbing Rachel's wrist and pressing her lips against the soft skin there. "I know," she mumbled. "I just had a bad day."

Rachel shuddered as Brittany's lips trailed up her inner arm. "Well let's get you out of this ruined skirt and I'll try to take your mind off it."

Brittany smiled against Rachel's skin and nodded. She stood up and pulled Rachel with her, absentmindedly realizing that she never even caught the woman's name. Maybe she would never see her again; or maybe she could start taking that street home more often.

Rachel brushed her fingers up Brittany's outer thighs as she trailed along behind her, thinking about her own day and wondering if she might run into the woman from the train station again. She'd have to start going that way more often; and maybe she'd even end up needing to take the train into Brooklyn.

Brittany pulled Rachel into the bedroom and kissed her.


	25. Touchdown

Prompt from oohweeshawdee on Tumblr: Rachel and Santana watch the Lakers play the Knicks. Rachel knows next to nothing about the game.

* * *

><p>"Yeah! Touchdown!"<p>

Santana rolled her eyes. "Wrong game, Rachel."

"But he got points," Rachel said.

"Touchdowns are in football," Santana replied. She grabbed the bowl of guacamole and pulled it into her lap. "Didn't you used to date a guy who played football _and_ basketball?"

Rachel cleared her throat. "I didn't really pay close attention to the game," she admitted, watching the men on television weave across the court.

"Oh?" Santana smirked, setting aside her guacamole and turning towards Rachel. She raised an eyebrow, sliding her arm along the back of the couch. "And just what were you paying attention to if it wasn't your _boyfriend_?"

"Nothing in particular."

"No?" Santana asked, fingers sliding down the couch and across Rachel's neck lightly. She ran her nails across Rachel's skin. "You wouldn't have been watching the cheerleaders, would you?"

Rachel shivered. "N-no."

Santana moved closer, her leg sliding against Rachel's and her fingers slipping inside the back of Rachel's shirt. She brought her other hand to rest on Rachel's thigh, her thumb stroking the soft skin there. "Are you sure?" she drawled, leaning forward to brush her lips against Rachel's ear.

Rachel inhaled and nodded.

Santana grinned, pressing a kiss against Rachel's neck and digging her nails into Rachel's thigh.

"Touchdown!" Rachel screamed, jumping up and cheering as Santana fell against the couch cushions.

"Now you pay attention to the game."


	26. LopezBerry

"You named a star after me?" Rachel asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Santana shrugged. "Kinda," she said. "It's _Lopez-Berry_. I put the hyphen in there to make it one name. Cause like, you're gonna be a star and I'm gonna be a star, so we should just do it together, you know?"

Rachel grinned, slipping an arm around Santana's waist and pressing her lips against Santana's neck. "It's sweet, thank you."

Santana nodded, wrapping her arms around Rachel's shoulders. "I got you another gift, too," she added, "but it's for later."

Rachel giggled, blushing slightly as Santana grinned at her. "I do have one question."

"Yeah?" Santana smirked, her palms slipping down Rachel's arms, fingertips gliding softly over her skin. Rachel shivered before looking back up at her.

"Why does _Lopez_ come first?"


	27. Best Friends

Prompt from ratherembarrassing: Pezberry as tiny kids, not their first meeting but them becoming best friends (from the Life or Something Like It universe though it's not necessary to have read that to understand this)

* * *

><p>Rachel frowns, her eyes darting over to the row of windows set against the outermost wall of the classroom. It's been raining all day, big wet drops that fall sideways as the wind blows. The clouds are large and dark as they settle across Lima, occasionally flashing as lightning rips from the sky.<p>

Her eyes dart down to the paper on her desk and her frown deepens. Not only do they not get recess because of the rain, but they have to spend their morning learning times tables. Her teacher calls it _multiplication_ but even the word itself bores her. She has more important things to worry about - she had everything planned out for the best recess ever and now it's all ruined because of rain and math.

(Rachel is a very good student, but her dad says that friends are one of the most important thing in the world so she figures that schoolwork can wait.)

It's Santana's birthday and now they're not even going to get to celebrate it together. It's the first occasion that they were going to mark as friends and now they're inside learning that _three times three equals nine_.

Rachel picks up her pencil and idly doodles around the margins of her paper, music notes and little swirls that stretch across the paper and connect like tiny galaxies. She draws a birthday cake in another corner with eight candles and an _S_ on the side. She sneaks out her colored pencils and fills it in with purples and blues and reds and every color that she thinks Santana might like. She writes _happy birthday_ in the middle with her special sparkle crayons.

_Three times twelve is thirty-six._

She colors in the swirls with blacks and purples and adds little gold stars that take entirely too long to draw and come out looking more like circles with little lines sticking out of them. (If only she had remembered to bring her stickers with her.) Rachel adds little pink and red accents to the music notes and then adds her name at the bottom in cursive because they've just learned how to write in it.

_Love, Rachel._

It isn't quite the fun half-hour of adventure time she had planned and she would just have to wait until lunch to give Santana the cookies that she made special, but she still thinks this will be something nice for her friend's birthday.

She leans back and looks at her paper again. There might still be numbers underneath all of the pictures she drew, but this is much better than rows of things like _four times ten is forty_ and Rachel hopes that Santana likes it because well, Santana is everything to her.

Rachel doesn't have any other friends and she doesn't need them either because Santana is better than math and rain and rainbows and gold stars combined.

Rachel bites her lip and waits until their teacher turns around to write on the board. She quickly turns around and slides her paper across the desk to Santana, who looks up from her own paper, her eyes wide. Santana throws her arm across her paper and narrows her eyes.

"What is it?" she whispers.

"Happy birthday," Rachel smiles, nudging at her paper. "I made you this because we can't play at recess," she says, quickly glancing behind her to make sure their teacher isn't looking.

"How'd you know it was my birthday?"

"I heard your mommy say," Rachel answers, leaning against the back of her chair. "Do you like it?" she asks.

"Hold on," Santana whispers, grabbing her pencil and slowly writing something on her paper, her arm still resting in front of it. She nods to herself before she picks it up and hands it to Rachel. "I made you this," she says. "Not 'cause it's your birthday but just because…I don't know," she shrugs. "I felt like it."

Rachel looks down at the paper and sees Santana survey her own gift. Santana's drawn flowers all over her paper and there's a dog playing in some grass in the middle of the_sixes _(he's brown and fluffy just like they agreed that their future dog together would be). Rachel's name is spelled out across the top in yellow-gold stars that Santana's drawn.

(In the top left corner, there's a drawing of their teacher as an ogre with yellow teeth and crossed eyes and Rachel figures that this particular drawing is more for Santana than for her.)

When she looks back up, Santana has a bigger smile on her face than Rachel's ever seen. "This is awesome," she says.

Rachel grins. "I brought cookies for lunch," she beams. "They're special birthday cookies," she adds.

"You're the best," Santana whispers. "Or whatever."

Rachel's smile grows even bigger. "So are you."

"Cool."


	28. Scary Movies

Prompt from kelhow2288: Santana and Rachel as kids watch a scary movie and deal with the aftermath.

* * *

><p>"Santana, I don't want to watch a scary movie."<p>

Santana groans and rolls her eyes. "Don't be such a baby," she says. "It's my turn to pick the movie and I pick _IT_."

Rachel pouts, her bottom lip jutting out. She furrows her eyebrows. "Pick something else," she responds.

"No."

Santana gets up and starts the movie, slipping in the DVD she's stolen from her older brother. He said that she's too little to watch movies like _IT_ and she doesn't know what it's about but she knows that her brother is always wrong about everything. He also said something about a clown and there's no way that clowns are _that_ scary. (He also said something about the end being kind of stupid, but they don't make it that far and Santana never has the desire to rewatch the movie and find out.)

It's late and all of the lights are off except for the television. Santana turns Rachel's nightlight on, not because she's scared but because she knows Rachel will be (and it's just for Rachel because Santana's never scared ever.)

She slides into bed next to Rachel, grabbing her bottle of juice (Rachel's dads wouldn't let them have soda) and a bag of chips. The movie starts and Santana feels Rachel start to shake before anything's even happened, her body trembling as she settles against Santana, her own juice forgotten. Rachel's eyes are wide and her fingers grip Santana's arm tightly and Santana almost regrets putting her through this. _Almost_.

The movie takes a while to get going and Santana's kind of bored. Rachel starts to relax, too, and she moves away slightly. Santana almost doesn't like it and when bad things start to happen, she's kind of okay with the way that Rachel holds on to her and practically crawls into her lap.

And then bad things start to happen. Like, really bad things that totally shouldn't be happening in a movie with a clown. Clowns are supposed to be nice, right? Nice and happy and cheerful (they make balloon animals and honk horns when Rachel's dads take them to the carnival).

But there's this clown and he's evil and he has sharp teeth and he's kidnapping kids and — Santana jumps up, yelping slightly as he appears onscreen again. Rachel buries her head in Santana's hair, her forehead against Santana's neck.

The first half of the movie ends and they're supposed to get up and flip the disk over to watch the second half, but Santana decides that she's had enough for one night. And from the way that Rachel is shaking and starting to cry, she's had enough to.

It's not that she's scared of clowns. And it's definitely not that she's scared by movies because she's almost eight and she's not a baby. It's just that she doesn't like the way that Rachel sniffles and clings to her tightly.

Santana says nothing as she turns the tv off, the only light left in the room coming from the small nightlight in the corner. Rachel flips the lamp on.

"I told you we shouldn't have watched that movie," Rachel whimpers, pulling her blanket up beneath her chin.

Santana just stares at the vent in the floor next to the bed. IT didn't come out of any vents, so they should be safe. Maybe.

"I told you," Santana says. "Stop being a baby," she repeats, continuing to stare at the vent. The air kicks on and she jumps, her body tensing.

"I'm mad at you."

Santana forces herself to roll over, trying to forget that there's just this big gaping hole in the floor that stuff could come up out of (maybe.)

"Sorry," she mutters.

Rachel sniffles again, shifting closer to her and wrapping her arms around Santana's shoulder. "Don't pick a scary movie next time," she says. "Please."

Santana nods. "'kay."

When Rachel eventually moves to turn the lamp off, Santana stops her. It's not because_she's_ scared; she's just thinking of Rachel. When she lays awake all night staring at the ceiling and keeping an eye on the vents, doors, and windows, she repeats again that it's just for Rachel's benefit, even though Rachel eventually falls asleep. She's just keeping watch.


	29. Angel

pezberry anon: Tipsy!Santana + Karaoke + singing Shaggy's song "Angel"

* * *

><p>"Hey, Lopez!" Puck smirked, leaning over and nudging her with his shoulder. "You should go get the next round."<p>

Santana scoffed, glaring at him. "Fuck off, you get the next round," she snapped.

"Well I'm gonna go do a song and somebody better have gotten me a drink by the time I get back," Mercedes said, standing up and going up to the stage, exchanging words with the man in charge of the karaoke.

The music to "Respect" started blasting through the speakers and Kurt groaned. "I love Mercedes, but she _always_ does this song," he yelled, straining over the music. "Santana, go get us more alcohol."

"Why do I have to do it?" Santana asked. She gestured over towards Sam. "Make Trouty Mouth go do it."

"Would you guys shut up?" Sam hissed, glaring at them. "I'm trying to listen to Mercedes."

Puck drained the last of his beer. "You should get the next round because the hot girl behind the bar's had her eyes on you all night," he said, tilting his head towards the bar. "And you'd be stupid not to hit that."

Santana glanced over, leaning over to see around the group at the next table. A small brunette was behind the bar, a simple grey tank top hugging the curves of her waist and breasts. A guy at the bar said something to her and she laughed, throwing her head back. The woman caught Santana staring and quirked an eyebrow at her.

Santana smirked, quickly chugging down the last of her drink. "Yeah, okay," she smirked. She pulled herself up out of her chair, teetering for a moment. "Whoa," she chuckled. Puck put a hand on her hip to steady her.

"Easy there, Lopez," he grinned.

She shrugged him off. "I'm fine," she said, adjusting her top, pulling it down slightly to show off more of her cleavage.

She sauntered up towards the bar slowly, leaning half on top of it and waiting for the bartender to finish talking to the ridiculously tall guy sitting at the other end of the bar.

The woman finally made her way to Santana, smiling. "Hey, what can I get you?" she asked.

Santana leaned further forward, running her eyes down the woman's body and back up to her nametag. "Just another round for me and my friends, _Rachel_," she said, waving her hand in a vague motion towards the table where Sam, Puck, Kurt, and Mercedes were sitting.

Rachel went to work fixing their drinks and Santana watched her work, the way she licked her lips and angled every glass just perfectly underneath the tap, fixing a couple of shots and some fruity mixed drink that Sam swore didn't make him look like a girl. She threw her hair over her shoulder as she loaded up a tray.

"Your friend's really good," she said, arranging the drinks.

"Yeah, she's not bad," Santana replied, resting her chin on her hand and winking at Rachel. "I'm way better, though."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh," Santana drawled.

Rachel slid the tray on top of the bar and Santana caught her eyes lingering on Santana's chest for just a moment too long. "Well you'll have to give me a demonstration of your talents…I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Santana," she said, holding out her hand and sliding her palm against Rachel's as they shook hands. She grabbed the tray of drinks. "Thanks," she said. "I'll show you how talented I am later," she smirked, going back to join her friends.

Six drinks later…or maybe it was seven. Santana wasn't sure anymore, but she couldn't feel her legs so it was definitely more than five.

"I can't believe you're still here," Puck laughed, shaking his shoulders as Kurt gave a rather excited and very drunk performance of "Le Jazz Hot."

Santana watched Rachel behind the bar, the muscles in her arms flexing as she handled various glasses and bottles. She mixed drinks expertly and with practiced ease, smiling widely as she did so. Santana watched the way her chest rose and fell every time she laughed and the way Rachel looked up through her eyelashes and bit her lip coyly, glancing at Santana every once in a while.

"Me, either," she groaned. "'M just …waiting for her to get off or somethin'. She said_later_."

"Oh, I'm sure she's gonna get off," Puck smirked.

Rachel was wiping down the bar, her hand lightly swiping a rag across it as she leaned forward. Santana's eyes narrowed.

"It's not fair," she muttered. "She's so hot. Look at her! With her lips and her fucking eyes," she hissed. "And did you see those legs? Tell me you saw those damn legs."

Puck nodded, staring at Sam and Mercedes as they cuddled across the table. "Like a fucking angel, man," he said.

"Oh! Oh!" Santana cried. "That's the-the song."

"What song?"

"For the demonstration," Santana said, standing up shakily. She pointed towards Rachel, grabbing her attention and winking for good measure as she grabbed the microphone on the stage and asked the man there to queue up the music.

A familiar song started playing through the speakers and she smirked, making sure to look at Rachel. Rachel's eyes widened and she started to laugh.

_"Girl you're my angel," _Santana sang smoothly, ignoring the fact that her words were slurring a little bit. "_you're my darling angel. Closer than my peeps you are to me,"_ she pointed towards the table her friends were at. Puck laughed loudly.

Santana swung her hips. "_Shorty, you're my angel, you're my darling angel. Girl you're my friend when I'm in nee-eed lady,"_ she sang, swaying slightly with the music.

It wasn't the neatest performance she had ever done, but Santana was proud of the way she was able to make her voice sound like the guy in the song in the spoken parts. She messed up most of the words, but the voice was good and Rachel was grinning widely, so Santana was totally fine with it.

Rachel shook her head as Santana finished, her friends cheering for her. She bypassed their table, however, and headed over towards the bar, Rachel's eyes on her the entire way.

"So," she chuckled lowly, "what did you think?"

Rachel laughed. "It wasn't the worst drunken version of that song I've ever heard," she smirked, resting her hands on top of the bar.

"Damn right," Santana said. "Listen," she started, "listen, you're like, an angel, okay? With your legs and your fucking flirty eyes. I fucking love angels. And you're a really hot one."

"Oh my god," Rachel giggled. "You are so drunk."

"Tha's not an answer to the question."

"I'm sorry, was there a question in there?"

"Yeah," Santana smirked, pressing her fingers to the bar next to Rachel's. "What are you doing later? _And you appear to me so tender, girl I surrender,"_ she sang.

Rachel laughed again. "I get off in an hour. If you can still stand up then, maybe I'll give you my number."

Puck slid up next to Santana. "What if _I_ can still stand up in an hour?"

Santana smacked him in the shoulder. "Sorry, you didn't sing a song to me," Rachel answered, sending another grin towards Santana.


	30. Wedding Planning

This is for Pezberry Week on Tumblr. The theme is "wedding planning."

* * *

><p>"I have to visit the caterers tomorrow to finalize the menu for the reception. The florist <em>still<em> hasn't called me back yet to discuss the arrangement for the bouquet," Rachel waved her arms wildly, pacing across the living room. "Kurt can't find the proper fabric for my dress. He had to order it and it still hasn't arrived yet. I've got to figure out seating charts and meet the band to talk about songs."

Santana reclined back against the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. "Uh-huh."

"And _you_!" Rachel started, whirling around to face Santana. "You haven't done_anything_ to help me."

Santana's eyes widened as Rachel glared at her. "I-I did…you didn't say anything," she stuttered. "You've got it under control."

"Weren't you listening?" Rachel asked, dropping down on to the couch next to her heavily. "There's still so much to do."

Santana rolled her eyes, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. She wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulders and pulled Rachel against her, resting her cheek against the side of Rachel's head. "I'm going to tell you something that should have gone without saying," she started, "and I'm only going to say it once, so listen up."

Rachel nodded against, her fingers brushing against Santana's stomach just below the hem of her shirt.

"You could show up wearing a potato sack, carrying a bouquet of weeds before we go to the reception and eat Chinese take-out while a polka band plays," Santana said, her hands slipping up into Rachel's hair, "and I would still fucking marry you. All that other stuff - the dress and the fancy clothes and good music - is awesome, but as long as you're there, nothing else matters."

Rachel swatted her stomach. "You're useless but I remember why I proposed to you," she said gently. "I love you."

Santana kissed her temple. "Love you, too," she muttered.

"I'm not wearing a potato sack to our wedding," Rachel added.


	31. Better This Way

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p>Rachel took center-stage, trying to peer out through the stage lights into the empty auditorium. Santana watched her shield her eyes, looking around in vain.<p>

Rachel pulled out an envelope, a simple blue envelope with her name on the front and a simple card inside. "Meet me in the auditorium after school. I have a surprise for you," it read. The other side contained a heart drawn in read.

Santana took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders and tightening her grip on the flowers in her hand. God, was she really about to do this? Was she really going to go after Rachel Berry? Rachel with those long legs and that kind smile and the ability to draw Santana's attention even when Santana didn't want to give it?

"Rachel? Are you in here?"

Rachel spun around. "Noah?"

Puck said something and Rachel responded, ducking her head slightly. He grinned at Rachel, offering her his arm, and Santana fumed. He had swooped in and stolen her girl without even knowing it.

No, not _her_ girl; she and Rachel would have never had a shot in hell. They were too different and too similar all at once. Rachel would want things from Santana that she couldn't give; she would want too much of _Santana_.

Maybe it was better that way, she thought, dropping the flowers on the nearest seat and walking out, ignoring the way her heart beat furiously in her chest, pounding out a rhythm that felt something like _you missed your chance; you could have had her; she could have loved you_.

It's better this way, she thought again, sliding her backpack on over her shoulders and pushing open the front doors of the school.


	32. Memory Erasing

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p><em>This is a coupon for one free memory erasing procedure. It can be used to erase anyone from your memory. Please use it wisely.<em>

She doesn't want these memories anymore; following her across the hall to the living room where they used to cuddle on the couch on Sunday afternoons; guiding her towards the bookstore where they first met four years ago; reminding her of everything that she's lost.

The way that Rachel used to kiss her, lips gliding over hers firmly and fingers caressing her cheek. The way Rachel looked at her when she thought Santana couldn't see, with eyes full of wonder and love. The way Rachel used to whisper her name into the night (or the morning or the afternoon) when Santana's tongue hit the perfect spot and unraveled her completely. The way Rachel used to _love_ her.

And now she has nothing but an empty apartment and a few dozen condolences that won't bring _her_ back. She has her memories but she doesn't want them, can't stomach the pain and the anguish and the bitter sting of loss that rests in her heart and makes it hard for her to breathe when she catches sight of the ring that she had only just bought.

She grabs it and stuffs it in a trash bag, adding Rachel's pillow and the picture of them on the nightstand, the box of movie and theater tickets they'd amassed, and everything else that reminds her of Rachel. The apartment is left almost empty, bare walls and a sofa; a bed and an empty nightstand.

Shaky hands clutch the garbage bags full of mementos and she drops them next to the couch, falling on to it. She doesn't want these memories of everything she's lost and everything she could have had, but she can't bring herself to get rid of them.

She puts the ring back on the dresser and the pictures back up on the walls. Maybe next time. (Probably never.)


	33. No Objections

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p>"If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."<p>

Rachel's eyes darted towards her for just a moment, just the briefest second before she looked back up at her fiancee. Santana's mouth was dry and she struggled to swallow as she caught Rachel look at her.

_Rachel laces their fingers together, pulling her into the park towards the swing and laughing as Santana almost trips._

_Rachel kisses her again, wrapping her arm around Santana's waist before resting her cheek against Santana's shoulder and turning her head back to the television._

_Rachel pushes her into the swimming pool and jumps in after her, sliding her body against Santana's and pushing her against the side, the concrete digging into her back._

_Rachel's fingernails scratch down her back as she curls her fingers and leans down to kiss her, their lips pressing together sloppily as Rachel struggles not to cry out._

_Rachel stares at her for a moment, sipping her coffee and smiling over the rim. Santana raises an eyebrow at her in question and she blushes, her cheeks pink._

_"I love you," she says._

Santana opened her mouth and then felt two hands grab her, wrapping around one of her hers. She looked over and her date smiled at her, shifting closer on the bench.

She said nothing.


	34. Feeling Good

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p>"Did it feel good, Rachel? Huh?" Santana sneered. Rachel's eyes darted away from her. "Come on. Tell me. Did it feel good when he fucked you?" she spat, taking a step closer to Rachel. She gripped Rachel's hips. "Does he know where you touch you? Does he know just what it takes to make you feel <em>good<em>?"

Rachel swatted her hands away, stepping backwards until she ran into the desk. "Santana!"

Santana pressed her body against Rachel's, pinning her against the edge of the desk. She put her hands on either side of Rachel's hips, keeping her in place. "No," she said firmly, narrowing her eyes. "You fucking tell me. Did you get off, huh? Did you _cum_?"

Rachel closed her eyes, ducking her head. "Santana, please," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she added. "It just happened."

"I at least deserve an answer to the only question I'm asking you," Santana scoffed. "I deserve _that_."

"Yes, okay? I _enjoyed _it," Rachel cried. Santana pulled away and she reached out, eyes watering as she opened them. "But I love you, Santana. I love you!"

Santana shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Yeah, well," she started, heading for the door. "At least you got to feel good while you were stomping all over my fucking heart, so let that keep you warm at night because I'm done."


	35. Forget You

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p>"I just want to forget you."<p>

_You can't._

"Why?"

_Because you love me._

"I hate you."

_No, you don't. You could never hate me, Santana. Even when you desperately wanted to._

"Fuck you. You don't know me."

_That's why I had to leave — because you always thought that I didn't know you._

"You didn't."

_I knew that you would call. I knew that it would be less than a week before you broke down and dialed my number._

"…just come back."

_I can't._

"Why?"

_Because you hate me._

"Rachel, I fucking love you."

_I just want to forget you._


	36. Always

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p>Santana wrapped her arms around her knees, holding them against her chest. Her eyelids fluttered and she turned away, staring at the window next to the bed, watching the clouds roll across the sky.<p>

"I can't believe that you would do this to me," Rachel whispered, clutching the stack of papers in her hand, wrinkling them as her fingers clenched. She braced herself against the dresser.

"Yes, you can," Santana said. "That's what you said, isn't it? That you were going to regret me."

"Santana," Rachel hissed, her breath catching in her throat. "That was _years_ ago. Look how far we've come. You're just going to throw away everything that we've built together?" she cried, waving the papers in front of her, the word _divorce_ catching her eye and burning itself into her brain as she did.

Santana said nothing at first, tilting her head as the sun struggled to push itself through the clouds she was watching. She turned away from the window, looking at Rachel with a steady gaze. "Do you regret me yet?"

Rachel exhaled brokenly, her eyes wide and full of disbelief. "Always," she whispered, shaking her head. "_Always."_


	37. Loss

Pezberry Week | Angst

* * *

><p>"Shh, it's okay," Rachel murmured, brushing her fingers through Santana's hair. She pulled Santana down on the bed, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and dropping a light kiss to Santana's temple. Her vision was blurry as she fought to hold back her tears.<p>

A broken sob wrenched itself out of Santana, her face contorting in pain. She tried to pull away from Rachel, pressed her palms against Rachel's collarbone and struggled against Rachel's hold on her. "It's not okay," she cried, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks on to Rachel's top. "It's not. Stop saying that it's okay," her voice broke and the tension in her body released as she practically fell into Rachel's embrace.

"I know, Santana," Rachel said gently, fingers swiping across Santana's face. "I know," she repeated. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting against the feeling of loss that built up in her stomach and threatened to take her over.

"We just — we have to be strong," Rachel whispered, feeling Santana's body tremble in her arms as she sobbed, hands clutching Rachel's shirt. "You're so strong, Santana," she told her. "We'll get through this."

"I lost him," Santana cried, her grip on Rachel tightening. "I lost our _baby_."

Rachel trailed one hand across Santana's stomach. She pressed her forehead against Santana's. "I love you," was all she said.


	38. LowKey Valentine

Pezberry Week | Valentine's Day

* * *

><p>A single red rose, a beautiful bracelet and matching earrings, a small stuffed elephant with a blue bow on its head, a giant teddy bear that was half her size, and at least one singing Valentine gram during every class period. (She had gotten three during her history class.) There were two separate boxes of vegan chocolate and a box of chocolate covered strawberries.<p>

"Do you think you have enough stuff?" Kurt asked, dropping into the chair next to her in the choir room.

"You didn't send all this stuff to yourself, did you?" Mercedes quipped, shooting Rachel a smile.

"Of course I didn't do all of this for myself," Rachel said, crossing her legs and rearranging her cache of presents.

"Who are they from?" Tina spoke up.

"I have no idea," Rachel replied. "Everything has just been signed, 'your secret admirer.'"

"Okay, I'm going to ask again: did you send all this stuff to yourself?"

Rachel huffed, standing up. She grabbed her backpack and threw it over her shoulders, filling her arms with all of the trinkets she had amassed over the course of the day. "No, Mercedes, I did not send all of these presents to myself and I'm offended that you would suggest such a thing," she scoffed, squaring her shoulders and walking out of the room with her head held high.

She collided with something firm as she stepped out. Two hands gripped at her hips, steadying her as she struggled to carry everything.

"Whoa, Berry," Santana smirked. "Where's the fire?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes, shooting a glance into the choir room and stepping away from the door, Santana's fingers still firmly holding on to her. "I thought we agreed that we were going to keep today a low-key affair," she hissed.

Santana's smirk fell and she eyed the assorted items Rachel was holding. She took the large teddy bear from her and looped her arms around its neck. "This _is_ low-key," she said. "You should have seen the special strap— well you know what, that doesn't matter," she shook her head as Rachel's eyes widened.

"Come on," Santana said. "You can't hold it against me for wanting to give my girl everything she deserves for Valentine's Day," she added, her lips quirking upwards.

Rachel looked down the hallway before turning back to look up at Santana, returning her small smile. "Thank you," she said, "but there's really only one thing I wanted from you today."

Santana shrugged. "Name it and it's yours."

"A-a kiss," Rachel said simply.

Santana glanced down the same hallway Rachel had a moment before. She licked her lips. "Here?"

Rachel nodded, ducking her head. Her face burned.

"Done," Santana grinned, dropping the teddy bear and throwing her arms around Rachel's shoulders, kissing her firmly, her lips catching Rachel's bottom lip between them. "Happy Valentine's Day," she whispered against Rachel's lips.

Rachel's gifts fell to the floor as she reached forward, hands running over Santana's waist. "The best," she sighed.

"You know you're gonna pick that up," Santana said, pulling away slightly and grinning. "I paid good money for that shit."

"Shut up," Rachel rolled her eyes, leaning forward and kissing the corner of Santana's mouth as she laughed.


	39. Am I not doing it?

Pezberry Week | Valentine's Day

* * *

><p>"I'm freezing my ass off," Santana huffed, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "What the hell are we doing out here?"<p>

Rachel sighed. "Must you complain so much? We're almost there."

"I wouldn't complain so much if I knew what we were doing," Santana shot back. She kicked at a rock in front of her, watching it roll into the snow.

"It's a surprise," was all Rachel would say.

"You couldn't come up with a surprise that took place inside? In your dad's living room? In front of the fireplace? Oh, that would be awesome," Santana said.

Rachel rolled her eyes, leading Santana down a familiar path in the park near the house her dads still lived in. She wrapped a hand around Santana's upper arm, leaning against her.

She spotted the swings and she grinned, bouncing slightly. She heard Santana laugh at her and saw her head shake out of the corner of her eyes. Rachel practically pulled Santana across the playground, stopping her in front of the middle set of swings.

Rachel pulled away and stood in front of Santana, grabbing her shoulders and moving her slightly closer to the swings. She glanced around and nodded to herself. "Perfect," she said.

Santana raised an eyebrow at her. "Are we going to swing?"

"No," Rachel replied. She took a deep breath. "This is — well you know where we are, of course."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Of course I do," she said, grinning playfully. "This is where we had our first kiss," she admitted. "We were — eleven?"

Rachel nodded. "Mm-hmm," she started, taking Santana's hand. "It was late and you had to go home so I leaned over and kissed you good-bye."

Santana chuckled. "Yeah, I remember," she said. She brushed her thumb across Rachel's knuckles. "We could have talked about this back at your dads, you know?" she said gently, smiling. "We've kissed there a lot over the years."

"But this was where we had our first kiss," Rachel replied. She inhaled, holding her breath for a second before she released it. She paused for a moment, watching Santana closely, noting the pink tinge to her cheeks because of the cold and her curious eyes. "Happy Valentine's Day," she eventually said.

"You could have said that to me at your dads, too," Santana responded, lips stretching into a slight smile.

Rachel nodded absently. "But I couldn't do _this _there," she said.

Santana glanced around. "Do what?"

"Am—am I not doing it?"

"No?"

Rachel nodded again, slipping her free hand into her pocket and pulling out a small black ring box. "Marry me," she said breathlessly, her eyes wide.

Arms wrapped around her, hands pressing against her back. "Finally," Santana laughed. "I'm freezing my ass off out here. That took you longer than I thought it would."

Santana swayed them to the side and Rachel laughed with her. "Is that a yes?"

Santana kissed her, nodding slightly. "Yes," she sighed against Rachel's lips.


	40. Miss Berry

prompt from anonymous: _Santana finds out that the woman she's been dating is her English teacher._

* * *

><p>She spotted her in the hallway after sixth period, the new English teacher that no one would stop talking about. Santana had heard all about how hot she was and how young, fresh-faced and just out of college and with legs that went on for days.<p>

Mister Schuester was already trying to sink his hair-gel stained claws into her, leaning casually against the lockers and grinning boyishly.

Santana took in the sight of the new teacher, the gentle curves of her waist and the way her pencil skirt hugged her ass perfectly, clinging to her outer thighs. She narrowed her eyes, feeling lied to. Those legs went on for weeks, not days.

Mister Schuester said something and the new teacher laughed, brushing her fingers against his arm and — wait a second.

Santana knew that laugh. And she knew those gentle curves and that tight ass and those ridiculously long legs (she had been between them last night.)

"Santana!" Mister Schuester spotted her. "Come say hello to Miss Berry."

"Santana?"

"Oh shit," she said, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "I mean — hi. I mean," she paused, shooting a look at Mister Schuester. "No, I mean h-hi."

"He-hello," Rachel stuttered, staring at Santana with confusion. "It's nice to meet you," she said stiffly.

"Yeah, you too," Santana nodded. She cleared her throat.

Will was looking at them both in confusion. He laughed uncomfortably.

"Will," Rachel turned to him, smoothing down her crisp button-up blouse. Santana watched his eyes follow Rachel's movements and resisted the urge to punch him. "It was lovely to meet you, but if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for my next class."

Will smiled. "Of course," he said. "I'll see you around," he winked.

Rachel nodded absently, sending Santana a look as she started down the hallway. She tilted her head briefly.

"I gotta go to class," Santana said, following her slowly and trying not to leer too openly as Rachel's hips swayed in front of her, the clicking of her heels echoing through the hallway.

Santana was led into what she presumed was Rachel's classroom and Rachel shut the door behind them, leaving the lights off. Sun drifted into the darkened room through the windows.

"You didn't tell me you were in high school," Rachel hissed immediately.

"Didn't come up," Santana shrugged, dropping her backpack to the ground next to an empty desk. "I'm eighteen, I told you that."

"Yes, but you didn't tell me you were a _high schooler_," Rachel said. She stayed against the door, hand clenched around the handle.

"I didn't think it would matter," Santana replied, leaning back against Rachel's desk and crossing her arms.

"You didn't think it would matter after six dates? You didn't think I should know about this?" Rachel cried, brows furrowing.

Santana's fingers played with the bottom of her Cheerio skirt. "I was going to tell you. I just got distracted," she smirked. She watched the way Rachel's eyes followed the path Santana's hand traced over her own thighs.

"Distracted?" Rachel wondered for a moment before her eyes widened. "Oh god, we had sex," she groaned. "I had sex with one of my students."

Santana smirked. "I had sex with one of my teachers," she grinned, pulling herself up on to Rachel's desk. She leaned back playfully, palms sliding back across the desk. "That's kind of hot," she tilted her head, eyeing Rachel again, the tightness of her pencil skirt as it hugged her hips and thighs, her sharp button-up shirt, the bun her hair was pulled back into.

Rachel crossed the room, standing in front of Santana firmly, her hands on her hips as she glared up at her. "Santana, it's not _hot_; I'm pretty sure it's illegal."

She slid off the desk, hands on either side of her body. She pushed one of her legs forward, hitting Rachel's foot with her own. "I'm eighteen," she said again, "_Miss Berry_."

Rachel stuttered for a moment. "Even if it is legal, it's highly unethical," she responded, taking a deep breath. "And I'm not positive that it _is_ legal. I wish you had informed me of this."

Santana ducked her head slightly, staring at Rachel through her lashes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just always _really _busy," she husked, "kissing you and holding you and_fucking_ you…Miss Berry."

Rachel's eyes wandered down her body and she stepped closer, fingers sliding through the strips of fabric that made up Santana's skirt. "You also should have told me that you're a cheerleader," she muttered, eyes darting towards Santana's lips. She pressed closer and Santana shifted against the desk, letting Rachel push her against it, pressing against her firmly and holding her there.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," Santana whispered, tilting her head as Rachel leaned forward. "It can be our little secret, Miss Berry."

"Santana…" Rachel sighed, palms sliding up Santana's outer thighs towards her hips.

"I really did want to get to know you," Santana admitted breathlessly, "you know, go on a date that ended with conversation instead of sex," she added, playing with the collar of Rachel's shirt.

"Really?"

Santana nodded. She gripped Rachel's shirt and pressed her hips forward. "You have to kiss me first, though, Miss Berry."

"Only if you keep calling me 'Miss Berry,'" Rachel groaned, closing the distance between them and kissing Santana, feeling Santana's hands wandering across her back and pulling her shirt up.

After seventh period, Santana had eighth period English and she spent the whole time staring at Miss Berry's ass in that skirt and trying to decide whether or not she should transfer into a different class. Rachel leaned down to help a student next to her and she decided that she wasn't going anywhere and that maybe failing would be worth it if she got to go home with Miss Berry after school.

She caught Puck leering at Rachel and smacked him in the head, wondering if she could extra credit for awesome orgasms.


	41. Lemonade

prompt from anonymous: Rachel's dads hire a young mechanic to fix their car. Hours later they walk in to Rachel pinned against the hood of their car making out with the young, hot mechanic in their garage.

* * *

><p>Rachel leaned against the kitchen counter, resting her chin in her hands as she watched Leroy move about. She sighed, restless and bored of summer already.<p>

"Rachel, sweetheart, do me a favor and take this lemonade out to the mechanic in the garage," Leroy said, pouring a glass from the freshly-made pitcher he had prepared. He added a couple of ice cubes and a decorative straw, grinning at her playfully.

"You don't think that's a little cliche, daddy?" Rachel rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. She straightened, standing up straight and brushing down her dress. "Oh, I'm going to send my young and impressionable teenage daughter out to take the handsome young mechanic some lemonade."

Leroy pulled the glass back from her, narrowing his eyes. "Are you an impressionable young woman? Should I be concerned?" he wondered. Rachel rolled her eyes and his smile widened. "Maybe I should take the lemonade out to the garage."

Rachel grabbed the lemonade from him. "No, I'll do it," she said, tilting her head and grinning. "It'll get me out of the house and away from you."

He laughed, shooing her out of the kitchen and grabbing an apron. "Handsome," he muttered, shaking his head.

xxx

Rachel peeked inside the garage, pulling the heavy door open and leaning around the door frame. She spotted two thin legs sticking out from underneath her dads' car, one foot absentmindedly shaking back and forth.

"Hello? Excuse me?" Rachel called out, stepping into the garage, the door falling shut behind her. It was hot and sweat formed on Rachel's neck and forehead almost instantly as she walked towards the mechanic underneath the car. When he didn't move, she tapped his foot with hers. "I brought you some lemonade," she said.

The mechanic's legs bent at the knee as he pulled himself out from underneath the car, sliding across the ground on a small board with wheels. Rachel watched as he became more visible, toned legs giving way to small hips, dark blue coveralls tied around them, a taut stomach covered by white fabric, splotches and streaks of oil coating it. Rachel caught sight of breasts and strong arms exposed as the mechanic wore a white tank top and wait — breasts?

"Oh," she muttered. "You're a girl."

The mechanic stood up, stretching her arms above her head, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that swung as she nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Expecting someone else?"

Rachel pulled her eyes away from the other girl's stomach and the tan skin exposed there as she stretched. "No one in particular," she replied, gulping as the mechanic smirked at her. "Oh, here's your lemonade," she stuttered, blinking rapidly and holding the glass out.

The girl wiped her hands on a rag quickly and stuffed it in her back pocket. "Thanks," she said, fingers sliding across Rachel's on the glass as she took it from and took a swig, downing half of it. "It's hot as fuck out here," she added.

"Mm-hmm," Rachel agreed, watching her pull an ice cube out of the glass, raising it to her mouth and slipping it between her full lips, sucking on it loudly. Water dripped down the girl's hand and arm. "I'm Rachel," she said, shaking herself out of her stupor. This mechanic was so much better than the _handsome_ one she had dreamt up in her mind.

"I'm Santana," the girl smirked, stepping forward slightly, body twisting minutely to face Rachel's more completely.

Rachel nodded. "Do you go to McKinley?" she asked, stepped around Santana, sliding her palms against the hood of the car and trying to regulate her breathing. It was just _so_ hot, the heat almost suffocating her.

"I just graduated from Carmel," Santana replied, shrugging. "I'm just doing this until college starts."

Rachel felt Santana shift closer, hip brushing against hers as Santana leaned against the car. She finished her lemonade, tilting her head back, and Rachel watched beads of sweat run down Santana's neck.

Santana sighed as she looked back down at Rachel, holding the glass out. "Thanks," she said, licking her lips. "I should — uh — probably get back to work."

Rachel nodded again, taking the glass from her and watching Santana's tongue run over her bottom lip. Her eyes were dark and they trailed down Rachel's body so quickly that if she hadn't been looking, she wouldn't have noticed it.

Rachel slid the glass on to the hood of the car, pushing it away. She grinned, sliding closer to Santana. She was still facing the hood and she braced her palms against it, deciding that okay, maybe it was unbearably humid, this mechanic was unbearably attractive, and that yes, maybe she was a bit impressionable when she wanted to be.

She spun around, hands on the hood of the car on either side of her body, the hot metal warming her palms instantly.

Santana shrugged, moving around Rachel and grabbing a wrench before she sat down on the rolling board on the ground.

"Wait!" Rachel cried. "What are you doing?"

"Going back to work," Santana responded simply.

Rachel huffed. "But I was going to —" she trailed.

"You were going to what?" Santana smirked, resting her elbows on her knees, eyes wandering up Rachel's legs.

Rachel grabbed her arm, pulling her back up to her feet. Santana laughed as Rachel curled her fingers around her upper arm. Rachel grabbed Santana's hips then, pulling her forward until her laughter died out. "I was going to let you kiss me," Rachel said, inhaling deeply, the scent of oil and steel in the air and clinging to Santana's stained white tank top.

"Were you?" Santana smirked, her hands resting on either side of Rachel's body.

"Uh-huh," Rachel nodded, leaning forward as Santana moved closer to her, pressing her hips forward against Rachel's and pinning her against the car. Her breath came in short gasps as the humidity and the feel of Santana's body against hers made her stomach tighten and head feel light.

Santana's smirk widened into a smile as Rachel's hands roamed upwards over her hips and waist, up her sides to rest on her shoulders. She licked her lips again and surged forward, kissing Rachel roughly, palms sliding across her hips.

Rachel kissed her back just as roughly, gripping the back of Santana's neck and scratching her fingernails against the skin there. Sweat made the hair stick to Rachel's neck and forehead and she refused to stop kissing Santana, gasping as the hands on her hips slid underneath her, pulling her up until the she was sitting on the car, the heat of the metal hood stinging her thighs.

Their lips slid together wetly, Santana pressing forward as hard as she could. She parted her lips, tilting her head downwards and pulling Rachel's bottom lip between her teeth lightly, nibbling on it as she slid her palms up Rachel's outer thighs. Her fingers trailed over Rachel's flushed skin, pulling her dress up.

Rachel groaned, pulling away from Santana's lips and throwing her head back. She put her hands behind her, palms against the metal hood as she leaned back. Santana's tongue quickly darted over her neck, flattening it against Rachel's skin as she licked up towards her jawline.

Santana hooked her fingers around the sides of Rachel's panties, moving away only to pull them down her legs quickly and stuff them in her back pocket with the rag she had used earlier. Rachel grabbed her tank top, pulling on it until Santana fell back between her legs.

Santana kissed her again and Rachel briefly registered the sound of a door opening.

"Oh god, my eyes!" someone cried.

Santana was away from her immediately and Rachel fell forward, grateful that her dress had fallen back down her legs when Santana had pulled her panties off.

"Daddy!" she gasped.

Leroy looked unimpressed, his mouth open and his eyes wide. "You-you don't think that's a little cliche, Rachel?" he said loudly. "And you!" he pointed towards Santana. "You are supposed to be working."

Santana nodded and Rachel slid off the car in a daze, staring at her father with wide eyes. Leroy shook his head and gestured for Rachel to follow him, glaring.

"I'm keeping these," she heard Santana mutter as she passed by her, fingers grazing her hip.

"Call me," Rachel whispered.

Leroy groaned. "Rachel!"


	42. I Need You

prompt from anonymous: _Santana is hinting at phone sex while talking to Rachel. Rachel does not get it._

* * *

><p>Santana's fingers trailed over her stomach, nails raking lightly over her abs. "When are you going to be home, babe?" she asked, switching the phone to her right ear. "I'm going fucking insane over here."<p>

She could practically hear Rachel's eye roll over the phone. "Santana, it's only been a week."

"Yeah, exactly," Santana nodded. "I'm going fucking insane," she repeated. Her fingers dipped just below the waistband of her shorts, gently caressing the soft skin there.

"You know how to cook," Rachel said. "Surely, you can manage to feed yourself for just a few more days."

"No, Rachel," Santana drawled. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"You know how to do laundry and clean, too," Rachel shot back.

Santana rolled her eyes, pulling her shorts and panties off quickly, fingers gliding over her thighs. "That's still not what I'm talking," she said, voice falling in pitch. She settled back in bed, releasing the kind of small breathy moan she knew Rachel loved and arching her back, imagining that Rachel was hovering over her pressing kisses to her neck. "_I need you._"

She heard the sound of books being shuffled on the other end, a cabinet or desk drawer slamming shut. "_You're_ just going to have to go to the grocery store and shop for yourself, Santana," she replied.

"For fuck's sake," Santana huffed. "_Sex_, Rachel. I'm talking about sex."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"Well why didn't you just say that in the first place?"


	43. Roommates

"Guess what?" Santana asked. She slid across Rachel's bed and laid back, hands beneath her head. She eyed her side of their shared dorm room, glaring at the pile of clean clothes on her bed and hoping they would put themselves away.

Rachel hummed absentmindedly, marking something in one of her textbooks. She had about a dozen tests in the coming weeks, professors loading her down with essays and assignments that kept her busy most days. (Somehow, Santana never seemed to do much work at all.)

"My brother's getting married," Santana said, her glare moving from her side of the room to Rachel's organized desk and dresser, clothes neatly hanging in her open closet.

"Oh, that's wonderful," Rachel replied, jotting down a few quick notes.

Santana shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," she sighed. "My mom wants me to come home for the wedding."

Rachel nodded, picking up another book and flipping through the pages. Her brow furrowed and she huffed.

"What are you doing in May?"

"Why?" Rachel wondered. She grabbed yet another book and opened it up, cross-referencing it to her other books, fingers and eyes sliding across the page.

"The wedding's in May," Santana said simply, rolling over to face Rachel.

She dropped her book, eyes finally meeting Santana's, lips slightly parted. "Are you asking me to attend your brother's wedding with you?" Santana nodded. "With your entire family? As your _date_?"

Santana shrugged again, a small smile on her face. "Yeah, if you want," she said. "I'm cool with taking my super hot roommate with me."

Rachel raised an eyebrow at her. "Just your roommate?"

Santana slid off the bed, crossing the small space to Rachel's desk and knocking her open books off the top. She wrapped her arms around Rachel's shoulders, gently sitting in her lap, bare legs resting against Rachel's thighs. "And girlfriend," she rolled her eyes playfully.

Rachel's hands brushed over her waist and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She looked up at Santana with wide eyes and a small smile. "In that case, your_girlfriend_ would love to attend your brother's wedding."

Santana leant down to kiss Rachel lightly, full lips pressing against the other girl's and fingers sliding through her hair. She caught sight of the books on the floor. Good, she thought. Now Rachel's side of the room was as messy as hers.


	44. Special Occasion

"I got you these," Santana greeted, reaching around Rachel to hold a small bouquet of flowers in front of her, body pressing against Rachel's back.

"What's the occasion?" Rachel asked. She took the bouquet and turned to face Santana, staying close to her as she inhaled the scent of fresh spring flowers. She smiled.

"I love you."

Rachel felt her cheeks burn and her heart beat furiously in her chest. She resisted the urge to duck her head and settled for bringing the flowers to her nose again. "Is that the occasion?"

"I love you," Santana repeated, nodding, her fingers slowly sliding across Rachel's hips. Her thumb edged its way under the hem of her shirt.

"I love you, too."

She kissed her.


	45. Heat

She slides her hands across her hips, palms sweaty, clinging to Rachel's bare skin. She curls her fingers, digging her nails into Rachel's hips until Rachel whimpers, releasing a breathless sigh and pressing back against Santana, one hand reaching back to grip Santana's hair and the other covering one of the hands on her hip, fingers lacing together unconsciously.

The pressure of Santana's nails eases slightly and she exhales, air slipping from between her lips and skating over Rachel's neck. A sheen of sweat clings to Rachel's skin, hot and enticing.

Santana can't resist it and she darts her tongue out, pressing the flat of it against the space below Rachel's ear and trailing it upwards, lips parted and pressing wetly to the shell of her ear. She hears Rachel gasp, chest heaving, and she grips her hips tighter, pressing Rachel forward until her hips bump into the desk. Her fingers dance upwards, slipping unde r the edge of Rachel's tank top.

"It's so hot," Santana husks, lips still against Rachel's ear. "You should take this off."

Rachel nods eagerly, the top of her body leaning forward and she slips her shirt off, fabric sticking to her skin in the jhumidity. The air hits her bare skin and her nipples harden immediately as Santana presses against her back, her own shirt long gone.

Their skin sticks together, sweat mixing and limbs lazily getting wrapped up together as Santana wraps her arms around Rachel's waist and slips a leg between hers. Rachel feels the rough denim of Santana's jean shorts rub the backs of her thighs and Santana's breasts pressed against her back, clinging to her.

It's so _hot_.

She groans and arches her back. She feels wet lips and an even wetter tongue slowly slide over the skin of her neck and she arches further, head thrown back and resting against Santana's shoulder.

Santana nibbles at her ear, teeth pulling Rachel's earlobe between them and nipping it as she slides a clammy palm up Rachel's stomach. She brushes her fingers just below one of Rachel's breasts and bites her neck suddenly, fingers tweaking a nipple at the same time.

Rachel cries out and Santana slows, eases the pressure of her thumb and forefinger around Rachel's nipple and the pressure of her teeth digging into Rachel's skin.

Santana sees the marks on her neck and kisses them lightly, tongue gently sliding over Rachel's skin to sooth it. Rachel sighs and Santana sighs with her.

Santana's palm rests against her stomach and her arm clings to her waist, skin sticky with sweat and flush from the heat and the way Santana has her pinned to the desk, back arched and head thrown back.

Her shorts are too constricting, tight around her thighs and hips, and Rachel wants to pull them off, feel the rush of air against her bare skin and the rush of Santana's bare skin against her. Rachel tries to pull back and pull her shorts off, but Santana tightens her grip on Rachel's waist, fingers squeezing her nipple.

Santana drops another wet kiss to Rachel, tasting the sweet sweat of Rachel against her lips as they part. "Ah, ah," she says. "Leave them on."

Rachel squirms, groaning. "Mm, but it's so hot," she replies, breathless and panting.

"I know, baby," Santana says gently, rolling her hips forward, the denim of her shorts scratching at her legs. She reaches up quickly to grip Rachel's hair, fingers curling around it and pushing it to the side over her shoulder. It sticks to the back of Rachel's neck and she moans slightly, pulling the tendrils off of her skin and rolling her hips again as she applies the barest hint of pressure to Rachel's nipple, twisting it just slightly between her fingers.

Rachel gasps lowly, breath catching in her throat, and her hips shift, rocking back against Santana's. Her eyelids flutter and her eyes finally close, back arching again as Santana slides her hand across Rachel's stomach, fingers feather-light as they flitted over her skin and dipped just inside the waistband of Rachel's shorts.

Santana's mouth was on her neck again, lips open as she gently sucked just below Rachel's ear. She pressed her palm to Rachel's lower stomach, pulling Rachel's hips back and creating some space between her and the desk, still sucking on Rachel's neck.

She tastes _hot_, like summer and like sweat and humidity and the kind of wet heat that makes Santana want to taste her and hold her and kiss her and never move ever again.

She hums against Rachel's skin. "You taste so good," she purrs, slipping her hand inside Rachel's shorts, palm pressing against her panties as it slid downwards. She cups Rachel, who whimpered and bucked her hips, trying to create some friction against Santana's unmoving hand.

"Santana," she cries softly, hips grinding forward desperately.

Santana chuckles, breath hot against Rachel's neck. "Yeah?" she rasps, pressing her hand against Rachel slightly harder before pulling it away, the elastic of Rachel's shorts digging into her arm.

Rachel grips her arm, fingers curling tightly. "Please," she moans in that low breathless way that she knew got Santana every time. "_Please."_

Santana groans against her neck, pulling her back forcefully. She slides her hand back up, pulling at the edge of Rachel's panties. They stick to her skin and Santana tugs on them, slipping her hand inside and trailing her fingers downwards until they brushed across wetness and heat.

Rachel sighs again and Santana holds her tightly, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against Rachel's shoulder. She feels the heat everywhere, clinging to her bare skin as it stuck to Rachel's, her front pressed to Rachel's back, and Rachel's wetness sticking to her fingers as she slid them through her folds. It makes her dizzy with need and she kisses Rachel's back, steadying herself against her.

Rachel releases another breathless sigh, squeezing Santana's arm. "Please," she moans. "I need you, Santana. I'm so hot."

"I know, baby," Santana says gently, lips pressing against Rachel's shoulder. "You're so hot and you're so wet," she groans to herself, fingers pressing against Rachel's clit until she cried out softly, a light gasp making her chest rise.

Santana draws her fingers deliriously slow, fingers moving against Rachel, pressing against her clit again, drawing circles around it and rolling her hips in time with her movements.

Rachel keens, canting her hips upward as Santana touched her. She grinds her hips forward against Santana's fingers, her free hand reaching back to grip Santana's head, fingers threading through her hair.

Santana's movements grow faster, palm pressed against Rachel's lower stomach to keep her in place as best she can. She slides her fingers over Rachel's clit slowly, circling them back upwards and easing them back down.

Rachel cries out, low and breathless and gasping, her body squirming in Santana's grasp. She needs _more, fast, harder _and she sighs Santana's name, telling her, asking again. "_Please._"

Santana slides two fingers inside her suddenly, groaning and pressing her lips to Rachel's neck again. She presses a few open mouth kisses against Rachel's skin, tasting sweat and heat and _Rachel_. She moans again, lips parted as she sucks on Rachel's neck, pumping her fingers inside Rachel. She feels Rachel's grip on her hair tighten.

Her fingers move fast, wrist burning and the elastic of Rachel's shorts rubbing against her arm. It's hot, too hot, and it's too much, and she grinds against Rachel's ass again, pulling her back further. Her lips are on Rachel's neck the entire time, marking her.

"_Santana,_" Rachel cries, fingers tightening around Santana's arm and in her hair. She bucks her hips faster, meeting Santana's thrusts and feelings the pressure build in her stomach. Santana's sucking on her neck and fucking her and it's hot and wet and sticky and Rachel can't think anymore.

Her stomach tightens and her muscles quiver, Santana's name on her lips again. She feels Santana's breath, hot against her ear. "Come for me, baby," Santana murmurs gently, head pressed against the side of Rachel's lightly. "Just come."

Rachel's muscles tense and her mouth hangs out for a moment as she feels the pressure in her stomach release, pleasure gripping her tightly before letting go. And she's gone.

Santana kisses Rachel's neck again, lightly pressing her lips down across Rachel's shoulder as she feels Rachel collapse in her arms. "Come on, Rachel," she says, fingers still inside Rachel as she pulls her away from the desk. "Let's have a cold shower."

Rachel nods, eyes closed as she lets Santana lead her out of the room.


	46. I Hate You

Rachel/Santana | In this room. With the curtains drawn. With the lights on. The sun shining outside. This is where you hurt the most. (I Wrote This For You - The Dark Room)

* * *

><p>"I wish you would love me," she says, fingertips grazing the bedsheets and drawing patterns that mean nothing.<p>

"I do love you," Santana rolls her eyes. She follows the patterns Rachel draws and pretends like they mean something more than they really do.

"I wish you would love me out there," Rachel says, eyes on the window, the dark curtains pulled completely across it. Sun just barely manages to shine through it.

Santana's palm rests on Rachel's hip, gentle and light. It burns an imprint on her skin that she can't get rid of it. (She isn't sure she wants to.)

"You're not meant to be loved out there," Santana shakes her head. "You're too much for out there."

Rachel says nothing, fingers still sliding over the sheets. "I hate you," she spells out. She lets Santana kiss her and they both pretend like the words on the sheets are meaningless. She kisses back.


	47. Plans

prompt: fluff

* * *

><p>"Rachel?"<p>

"Yes?"

"What are you doing later?"

"I don't have any plans. Why?"

"Because you're coming over to my house and then I'm going to make you_come_."

"Santana, you can't just —"

"It wasn't a question."

"At the very least, you could attempt some manner of romance."

"I have candles and vegan chocolate? I'll watch half a musical with you."

"I'll be over at eight."


	48. Ready

prompt from rockinrye: porn [because apparently it's impolite to write angst in the morning]

* * *

><p>"I just want you to know that I have extensively researched the nature of —"<p>

Santana groaned. "Oh my god, will you shut the fuck up and just do it already? It is not fucking hard."

Rachel dug her nails into Santana's legs, fingers splayed across her thighs. "I'll do it," she pressed her nails in harder until Santana hissed, "when _I'm_ ready."

Santana raised her hips, squirming down the bed closer to Rachel. "Shit, Rachel," she said, gripping Rachel's hair, fist clenched. "Do you need a written invitation?"

Rachel pressed a wet kiss to her skin, lips parted as she nipped at one of Santana's thighs. She pulled back abruptly, sitting up on the bed. "Well now that you mention it…"

"I fucking hate you."


	49. I Love You

Rachel/Santana | And there are thousands in the crowd outside everyday. And everyone's there. And they love me. And I don't care. Because they're not you. (I Wrote This For You - The Way It Rains Down Windows)

* * *

><p>When she wins her first Tony, she thanks all of the people she is supposed to thank and all of the people she has been practicing to thank since she was four years old and she knew what she wanted from life.<p>

Words sit on the tip of her tongue. _I love you _and _it was all for you, Santana._ She says, "Thank you so much," and walks off the stage instead.

xx

When she wins her second Tony, Rachel rattles off the names of her agents and costars with ease, smiling graciously while she feels her heart swell in her chest uncomfortably.

_I love you_ she wants to say. "Thank you, Santana," she says, and spends the next few hours dodging questions about who Santana is.

xx

When Rachel wins her third Tony, she stands on stage and cries, wiping at her eyes and clutching her award.

"I love you," she finally says.

xx

She receives two messages that night:_ congratulations _and _I hope you're happy. _Her fingers hover over the buttons on her phone and Rachel eyes the awards in her living room, taking a deep breath and hitting the "call" button.

"I love you," she repeats as soon as Santana answers.

"Was it worth it?"

_I don't know_, almost slips out of her mouth before she catches it_. _"I love you," she whispers. "I love you."


	50. Bed

Rachel/Santana | Every bed without you in it, is broken. (I Wrote This For You - The Promise Sleep Made Me)

* * *

><p>The left side is Rachel's side, the fluffy pillow and half of the blanket that she would kick off the bed in the middle of the night because she was hot.<p>

The right side is her side, the firm pillow and half of the blanket that would become all of the blanket when Rachel kicked it off in the middle of the night because she was hot.

The middle is where the meet when they kiss in the morning or the middle of the night; where Rachel wakes up and finds Santana staring at her; where Rachel grips Santana's hand, curling her fingers and lacing them through Santana's.

The middle is where they love.

xx

The left side is Rachel's side, the fluffy pillow and all of the blanket because there's no one to share it with anymore. She kicks it onto the floor in the middle of the night because she's hot and alone and she can't sleep.

The right side is cool to the touch, empty and cold, so she moves over and the right side becomes her side because it's not hot and she swears she can still catch the faint scent of Santana clinging to the sheets.

The middle is where her heart breaks.

xx

Rachel sleeps on the couch. All of the sides hurt too much.


	51. Goodbye

I just want to thank everyone for their comments. :)

Rachel/Santana | You don't get to yell at me for being dead, if you're the one that killed me. (I Wrote This For You – Last Meal Request)

* * *

><p>She remembers the day her heart breaks.<p>

It's a Thursday. The sun is shining and the sky is a deep blue that she wants to lie beneath and stare at forever. She watches a few clouds drift overhead, patches of white and light grey sliding across the sky like they're looking for something. Other clouds, maybe. (She knows how they feel.)

Santana says, "I love you." She kisses Rachel's forehead and adds, "Goodbye."

She leaves Rachel lying in the grass alone, her heart in dozens of pieces beneath the clear blue sky on a warm spring day.

xx

Santana kisses her, deeply and longingly. She doesn't say, "I'm sorry" because her kisses and the way she clings to Rachel, arms wrapped tightly around her waist and eyelashes fluttering, says everything she never could. She thinks it's enough.

Rachel sees the way Santana looks at her, like she's trying to find all of the tiny places to put her heart back in, and she turns away. (She keeps those places safe now.)

Santana's eyes burn her skin, looking for who Rachel used to be. "I love you," she says.

"Goodbye," Rachel replies.


	52. Please

Her palms glide over Rachel's hips, fingertips tracing over her skin lightly as she feels Rachel stir, shifting in bed and sighing, pulling the blankets up beneath her chin. Santana moves closer, pressing flush against Rachel's back and burying her head in Rachel's hair, nuzzling against her neck and inhaling the barest scent of her shampoo.

Santana yawns, closing her eyes against the light that tries to force its way through the curtains. It's early — too early for her to be awake — and she attempts to fall back asleep, to let the feel of Rachel's back against her front soothe her and the soft rise and fall of her chest with her breathing calm her. She matches Rachel's breathing, deep and even, and stifles another yawn.

She slips an arm under Rachel, hand cupping Rachel's hipbone, and pulls her back further. Her other hand drifts down Rachel's outer thigh, nails scraping down towards her knee and back up to her hip. Her skin is soft and Santana has to resist the urge to press her nails harder, to dig into Rachel's skin and mark her beautiful body with scratches and bite marks. Santana presses her lips to the space where Rachel's shoulder meets her neck instead.

Her hand moves along Rachel's leg feather-light, fingertips slowly running over her thigh, dancing upwards. Goosebumps rise on Rachel's skin — she feels them beneath her fingers — and Rachel stirs again, rolling backwards, back resting half on top of Santana.

Rachel's eyelashes flutter and Santana stills her movements, lips pressing against Rachel's neck again. She hums and goes back to sleep and Santana releases a deep breath, a small smile on her face.

Rachel is warm and soft and comfortable, her bare skin sticking to Santana's slightly. She smells like soap and like fresh sheets and like _Rachel_ and Santana stops herself from taking Rachel, from fucking her fast and hard until she smells of sweat and heat and stickiness. She slides her fingers up the insides of Rachel's thighs instead, parting her legs with one of her own and kissing Rachel's neck again, tongue carefully tracing a path up her neck and below her ear.

She feels Rachel move again, legs spreading of their own volition. Rachel exhales, releasing a slow breath. She halfheartedly bats an arm behind her, swiping her fingers at the open air until she manages to connect with Santana's arm. She finds Santana's wrist and grips it lightly, squeezing it a couple of times.

"Please," she says breathlessly, voice barely a whisper. It's rough and it cracks slightly, unused and sleepy. Her eyes flutter open before drifting closed again. She angles her hips upwards and pulls her lip between her teeth, struggling to open her eyes again.

Santana stops moving, lips resting against the top of Rachel's back and fingers splayed across her thigh.

Rachel hums again, a low _mmmm_ followed by a small groan. "Please," she whispers again.


	53. Dance

prompt from rockinrye: "Tonight I'm gonna dance for you." (Rachel/Santana, smut)

* * *

><p>Santana has Rachel pinned to the door as soon as she steps inside their apartment. She grips Rachel's wrists and holds them against the front door, kissing her deeply and feeling Rachel gasp against her. Rachel's lips slide over hers, moving against her own lips sloppily. It's all wetness and heat and it makes Santana groan when Rachel struggles against the hands holding hers above her head.<p>

Rachel's hips shift against her and Santana lets go of her wrists, the urge to touch her overcoming the need to hold her in place. Santana slides her palms over Rachel's sides, fingertips curling slightly, bunching the material of her dress when she reaches her hips.

Rachel sways slightly, cheeks and chest flush from dancing in a tiny dress and ridiculously high heels that she knew would turn Santana on. Rachel looks up at her through her eyelashes knowingly, lips swollen from their kisses.

Santana leans down again, closing the distance between them (Rachel's lips are too perfectly kissable for her to stay away for too long) but Rachel stops her with a hand on her chest. She presses her palm against Santana and pulls back.

"No," she says, breathless in the way that makes Santana almost instantly wet. She pushes off the door, moving Santana backwards.

"Baby," Santana starts.

Rachel leads her over to the couch, pausing in front of it to pull Santana against her and kiss her lightly. "Tonight," she kisses her again, "I'm gonna dance for you."

Santana groans again. "You've been dancing all night," she says. "All fucking night. In your fucking dress. With your fucking — _everything_. Seriously, you've been teasing me all night."

Rachel chuckles and rolls her eyes, pushing against Santana's chest until she falls back on to the couch with a soft _oomph_. "I don't know if you've noticed," she says, hands sliding up Santana's chest to rest on her shoulders, "but it's still nighttime."

Santana's hands instantly grip her hips, attempting to pull Rachel down on top of her, but she stands her ground. "No," she says firmly, staring down at Santana. "Tonight, I am going to dance for you."

Santana's eyes slip shut and her lips part. She nods, letting out a breathy moan in anticipation.

Rachel smirks, taking advantage of Santana's closed eyes to wrap a thin strip of fabric around her head, covering her eyes. Santana tries to protest but Rachel silences her with a finger placed over her lips.

"But I can't see you —"

"No," Rachel whispers, pressing her lips against Santana's neck. She places her hands over the ones on her waist, holding them there as she moves. "But you can feel me."

Santana inhales sharply and nods, fingers curling against Rachel's hips. Rachel's hands leave hers long enough to grab the remote from the table next to the couch, pressing a few buttons on it until music starts to play. (She doesn't know all of the songs in Santana's collection but she's sure that a playlist entitled _songs to fuck Rachel to _won't disappoint.)

The beat is heavy and slow. She feels Santana's hands on her, guiding her to the song. She moves her hips, leaning down and putting her hands on Santana's shoulders. Santana's hands slide down the outsides of her thighs as she moves, steady despite her lack of vision, and Rachel's eyes slip closed. She feels the music in her body, in her limbs and between her legs, and she lets it move her.

Santana's fingertips trail lightly down her legs towards the bottom of her dress. She reaches the hem and her fingers brush over Rachel's bare skin. She sighs wantonly.

She begins to lift Rachel's dress up slowly, feeling the muscles of Rachel's legs as she moves. She pictures the way Rachel's hips are moving, swaying from side to side, and the way her chest rises with each breath she takes, breasts barely concealed by the material of her dress. She licks her lips.

Rachel is closer to her now (she can feel her) and she slides her palms up Rachel's legs, pulling her dress up until it bunches around her hips. Her skin is so _soft_ and Santana can't help the groan that escapes her when she realizes that Rachel isn't wearing any panties.

Rachel straddles her (_fucking finally_, she thinks) and Santana pulls her downwards until Rachel grinds against her. Rachel lets out another one of those breathless moans that makes Santana glad that she's sitting down because her knees are weak and Santana grips her hips.

Rachel continues to move, hips grinding down against her in time with the music and the pounding of Santana's heart. Rachel's hands are on her shoulders again, fingers curling over them tightly. She catches the faint hint of Rachel's perfume in the air and feels Rachel's chest brush against hers.

Santana drags her hand over Rachel's skin, down over her hip and across her leg towards her inner thigh slowly. She knows the contours of Rachel's body and her path is sure and steady. "Please?" Santana asks, pausing.

Rachel answers her by grinding down against the hand between her legs, wetness coating Santana's fingers. "You're so fucking wet," she moans.

"Mm-hmm," Rachel hums, grinding down against her hand again as a new song starts.

Santana releases a strangled breath, panting. She _needs_ to touch Rachel, needs to feel her. She can feel it in the way her fingers tingle and ache. She slides her fingers through Rachel's wetness until she brushes over her clit. They both sigh at the contact.

Rachel's hips rise and then slowly slide back over her, legs spreading over the tops of Santana's thighs. She moves with the music still and Santana keeps time with her, fingers lightly circling around Rachel's clit. Rachel moves slightly faster as the song builds up, tension rising in both her body and the music.

She feels Rachel's thighs quiver and she moves her fingers faster, alternating between circling around Rachel's clit until she whimpers and brushing over it. When Santana's fingers slide down towards her entrance, Rachel's hips slip on the beat. She's so wet and the feeling of it makes Santana groan, the feeling of the wetness coating her fingers and the heat hovering over her body, the hips moving above her and the tensing of the muscles around her hand and beneath her fingers.

Santana slips the tips of two of her fingers inside Rachel, hearing her gasp and lose the music completely. Santana stills, waiting, _feeling_ Rachel all around her, and after a moment, Rachel grinds her hips, pressing herself down on Santana's fingers until they're completely inside her.

Rachel raises herself off of Santana, hands gripping her shoulders, and lowers her body again. She leans forward, kissing her, lips sliding wetly across Santana's. The music is lost to her when she feels Santana's fingers curl inside her.

Rachel cants her hips, pressing herself as close to Santana as she can. Her hips buck forward, urging Santana deeper, and she gasps as Santana's fingers slide into her, meeting her movements with increasing urgency.

Santana's fingers curl upwards with every buck of Rachel's hips and she moves faster, pumping inside Rachel faster. Rachel moans above her and she can't see it, but she knows what it looks like, can picture it in her head, and she can feel Rachel's breath against her lips as she tries to kiss her again.

Santana's thumb presses against her clit, circling around it and then over it, faster and faster. Rachel's muscles clench around her fingers and she cries out. Her thighs tremble and her fingers dig into Santana's shoulders as she comes undone.

She stills her fingers, keeping them inside Rachel until the tension in her body releases and Rachel collapses on top of her. Rachel kisses her lazily, pulling the blindfold odd of her.

Rachel takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering. "It's still nighttime," she says breathlessly.

Santana nods, smirking, and kisses her.


	54. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Rachel/Santana, inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

* * *

><p>Santana shoots a look left. Then right. Focuses in on the woman in front of her, the skirt she's holding in her hand, the expectant look on her face. Rachel?<p>

"Do you like this one? What do you think?"

She blinks, looks at the pattern and the cut as Rachel holds it against her body. "Depends," she says. "Are you going for the preschool look? Aren't you over the whole schoolgirl skirt thing?"

Rachel sighs, hangs the skirt back up. "I like my skirts," she says primly.

"They were hot when we were in high school, but don't you ever get tired of dressing like a five-year-old?"

"Just because I don't choose to dress like a woman of ill repute doesn't mean that I dress like a five-year-old," Rachel shoots back. She frowns and picks up a black pencil skirt, considering it.

"Are you saying I dress like a whore?"

Rachel's eyes narrow. "No. I'm just saying that if you bent over right now, half of the store could see your panties, or lack thereof."

Santana scoffs, crossing her arms. She rolls her eyes, catches the lights in the back of the store start to go off. The edges of the racks of clothes start to blur. Rachel's still talking but there's a dull buzz to her words that makes it hard to hear them.

She hears herself talking back but her lips aren't moving and she's not actually saying anything. What the fuck?

The clothes disappear. She blinks. Rachel's gone and in her place is a door. It's the front door of their apartment. Santana has the sudden urge to punch it or kick it or do something. Anger rushes through her.

Rachel is shouting at her. "Santana, you can't just walk away from this! We need to talk about it."

"All you ever want to do is talk," Santana groans automatically, unaware that she's saying the words until they've already been said.

"I'm sorry for wanting to speak with my girlfriend," Rachel says, "especially about the fact that Kurt saw her out with another woman on what looked like a date."

The color fades from the curtains and the walls. The couch disappears.

Santana rolls her eyes. "It wasn't a date!" she shouts. "I told you already: we were just having lunch. Am I not fucking allowed to eat with other people now?"

The room fades slowly, slipping first to a grey color before it succumbs to blackness. All that's left is her and Rachel.

"With your lips?"

Santana shakes her head in annoyance, opens the door and steps through it.

She's not in the hallway outside their apartment, she's in the bedroom. Rachel's lying in bed wearing a simple white t-shirt and pink panties. A script is in her hands.

Santana frowns, cocking her head to the side. How did they get here? She closes her eyes. How did —?

_A white room, bookshelves with large medical texts leaning against the walls. A man, a doctor sitting in front of her. "Miss Berry chose to have you erased from her memory because it was too painful. She wanted a fresh start."_

She's in her memories. She's in her mind.

"You had me erased," Santana says, blinking her eyes open. "You bitch, you fucking had me erased."

Rachel looks up from her script. "What are you talking about? Come back to bed."

Santana crawls into bed, fingers sliding across Rachel's thighs automatically. "You had me erased from your memory."

Rachel's thighs part slightly as Santana's hands slide upwards on instinct. "That doesn't sound very much like me."

"I know, right? I can't believe you would do this to us, to _me_."

The sun shining in through the window dims, replaced by nothing. The corners of the bedroom start to slip away.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says simply, fingers wrapping around Santana's wrist. "I must not have been thinking clearly."

Santana snorts. "You think?"

All that's left is the bed, the light clinging to Rachel's bare skin, soft beneath her fingers. The blanket on the bed is gone, the pillows long since disappeared. Santana tightens her grip on Rachel's legs for just a moment.

And then she's gone.

It's fucking freezing. Santana wears a thick winter coat and boots. Snow covers the ground, the trees. She's in the middle of nowhere and there's nothing around her but snow and cold.

Snow hits her right in the face, spreads out over her nose and mouth, slides down her neck. Santana gasps and coughs as arms wrap around her waist firmly.

Rachel laughs, grip on Santana tightening. "I got you."

She twists in Rachel's arms, fingers wiping away at the snow on her neck. "I hope you're going to warm me up now," she smirks.

Rachel's hair is in pigtails that fall out from under a red hat. She has a matching coat and gloves. She's kind of adorable, Santana thinks. Rachel grins, gloved palms pressing against Santana's sides. "I'm sure I can think of a few ways to get you hot."

Rachel's cheeks are pink and her eyebrows are raised. _This_ is the Rachel that she loves, this adorable little dork. This is her Rachel. Santana sucks in a deep breath and glances around.

There are no more trees. The ground beneath her feet darkens. Where did the snow go?

Santana swears. "Shit, Rachel," she shakes her head.

"You don't want me to warm you up?"

She shakes her head again. "You're being erased. Look around. All of my memories of you are being taken away."

The sky is gone. Santana blinks and her vision goes blurry. "They're taking _you_ away from me."

Rachel's arms around her waist tighten, then slip away. Santana feels cold, body and soul. She closes her eyes for a moment and then opens them again.

The lights backstage blind her for a second before she manages to focus. Crew members bustle around, a few of Rachel's cast members celebrating around them.

Santana is holding a bouquet of roses. Roses? Of course. It's Rachel's first off-off Broadway show and Santana delivered her roses after her first performance. She remembers now.

She asks someone where the dressing room is automatically, not because she doesn't remember but because it's part of the memory. She remembers _exactly_ where Rachel's dressing room was; she spent enough time there before and after shows ruining Rachel's makeup with frantic, wanting kisses.

Santana knocks and waits for the door to open, smiles as soon as it does. Rachel is standing there, hair and makeup still done. Rachel throws her arms around Santana, pulls her inside and stays in her arms.

"That was amazing!" Rachel gushes. "It was everything that I always imagined my first real New York City stage performance to be like and more."

"You were fucking incredible," Santana says, hugging Rachel close. She holds her there for a few more moments. "You're the fucking best."

Rachel pulls back, sees the flowers in Santana's hand. "Are those for me?"

Santana nods, bites back a smart-ass retort and holds the roses out. "You earned them," she starts honestly, breaking the memory. "You stole the show. You only had a few lines in some of the songs and danced with the chorus, but you were the most memorable girl on that stage," Santana says. "I love when you sing."

The dressing room disappears in a single blink. It's just her and Rachel and the roses.

Rachel smiles softly, fingers the stems of the roses in her hand. "It's a shame that you aren't going to remember it anymore."

"You already don't." A pause. "You were beautiful."

"Thank you."

She's going to miss this memory. She and Rachel went out for a celebratory drink afterwards and Santana spent the rest of the night between Rachel's legs. She spent the next morning curled up in Rachel's arms, content to just lie there.

The roses go next. Santana pulls Rachel into her arms again, lets go of the rest of the night and the morning and clings to this moment. She meets Rachel's eyes, tries to memorize her soft smile.

"Santana, you missed your cue."

"What?"

She looks away from Rachel, from that soft smile and those understanding eyes, turns toward the voice speaking to her. "Mister Schue?"

She looks left. Then right. Glee club. She's in glee club rehearsal.

Santana glances down, eyes the familiar red and white of her cheerleading uniform. She looks up and there's Rachel Berry looking at her.

"What are you staring at, Man Hands?"

Mister Schuester waves at them. "Okay, guys, let's get back to work."

Rachel is next to her, following along to the dance instructions that they've been given. She nails a particularly hard part of the routine and her eyes meet Santana's as she begins to sing.

Santana smiles, then looks away. She's not supposed to smile at Rachel Berry. Stupid hobbit, always distracting her with her long legs and her bright smile.

No, wait. Santana misses some of the choreography. She has the overwhelming urge to throw a slushie at Rachel and she holds it back. It's just the memory, she tells herself.

A few of the glee club members are missing, as are the seats in the auditorium. Santana starts dancing again, looks back over at Rachel. She both wants to kiss her and have her thrown in a dumpster.

"I'm not going to remember the glee club," she says to Rachel. The music slowly starts to fade, grows quieter. "All the times we sang and danced together."

"We made beautiful music together," Rachel replies, spinning in place. "Eventually."

Santana nods, breaks formation and dances over towards Rachel. She grabs Rachel's hands, tugs her closer. "Yeah," she agrees. "I had to get my shit together first."

It's just them now, them and the small piece of stage left under their feet. Rachel smiles at her and they dance.

"I'm sorry," Santana says. "I guess I didn't have my shit as together as I thought."

"It's okay."

"You had me erased first."

"I know."

"I'll miss you," Santana admits.

Rachel shakes her head. "No, you won't. You won't even know that there's a me to miss."

"I love you."

"Not for much longer."

Santana hugs her tightly, inhales, closes her eyes.

She exhales slowly. Opens her eyes.

The curtains are pulled back. Sunlight streams into the bedroom. Santana groans and rubs her eyes. She has a headache, a hangover maybe. She feels like she got hit by a bus.

She pulls herself out of bed and stands shakily for a long moment. Something is wrong. Santana waits for a few more seconds, but nothing comes to mind. Everything is where it should be.

She shrugs to herself and wanders towards the bathroom. Maybe she'll call Quinn later and they can go out for a few drinks.


	55. NYADA

Rachel/Santana friendship. Spoilers for 318.

* * *

><p>She found Rachel sitting at the edge of the stage of the auditorium, legs dangling over the side. Santana pulled herself up on to the stage and sat next to her.<p>

"Heard about your audition," she said nonchalantly. What? They're friends now. She can say whatever she wants to Rachel.

Rachel sighed, watching her legs swing, cutting through the air sharply. "I really don't want to talk about it, Santana," she said.

Santana swung her legs in time with Rachel's. "So we won't talk about it."

They sat silently for a moment.

"Want to come over tonight?"

"I appreciate you trying to be a friend to me now, but I really just want to be alone."

Santana shrugged and pulled out her cell phone, shooting off a quick text message before leaning back on the stage. She propped herself up on her elbows and said nothing.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked.

"Leaving you alone."

"Seriously, Santana?"

"Hey, you're the one who started talking this time, not me," Santana replied.

Rachel sighed again, pulling a deep breath into her lungs. "I'm never going to get to New York," she said, voice cracking. Her shoulders fell.

Santana rolled her eyes slightly and sat up, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "That's bullshit, Rachel," she said. "So you blew this audition. Do you know how many schools there are in New York that would kill for someone who can sing like you?"

"Please," Rachel scoffed tearfully. "There are thousands of Rachel Berrys in New York City."

"Okay, you know what? Fuck NYADA," Santana pulled Rachel into her side, moving closer as she did so. "So you'll go somewhere else in New York? Who cares? Maybe it won't be as easy as you thought to get on Broadway. You'll just have to work a little harder, cut a few more bitches who get in your way."

Rachel sniffled. "No offense, but that's more your style of handling competition than mine."

Santana grinned at her, tightening the arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Then I'll cut some bitches for you."

Rachel cracked a small smile, tears still spilling down her cheeks.

"Did I ever tell you that I have razor blades in my hair?"

"I might have heard a rumor," Rachel said.

Santana nodded at her, sharing another smile with Rachel. It was a new experience, being a friend to Rachel, but it wasn't the worst one she'd ever had. "So you coming over tonight or what?" A pause. "The vegan ice cream isn't going to eat itself."

"Fine." Rachel leaned into Santana's embrace. "What if I just mess up again?" she asked quietly.

"You won't."

"But what if I —"

_"You won't."_

Rachel twisted in her embrace and wrapped her arms around Santana's waist, burying her face in Santana's neck and crying. Santana squeezed Rachel softly. "You won't," she repeated quietly.


	56. Nerd

Santana and Rachel have a child with Artie's sperm. Artie and his boyfriend Sam are awesome uncles. [for paulcolfers on Tumblr]

* * *

><p>Her son is a nerd. There is no possible way that Santana could pretend to deny it. The kid has on a sweater vest and matching tie, not for any particular reason but that he said it made him look handsome and gave a good first impression and momma said first impressions are the most important impressions. He wears glasses that cover half his face and pressed khakis. By choice.<p>

The kid has half of her genes and none of her badass. Blake is a walking, talking miniature Artie Abrams with Santana's complexion and pouty lips, which he used against Rachel as often as he possibly could (at least he took after his mom in that regard.)

Yes, Santana Lopez-Berry's son is a nerd. And it is all Rachel's fault.

_"You want who to be the father?"_

_"Artie," Rachel replied matter-of-factly._

_Santana's face scrunched up and she crossed her arms, reclining back on the sofa in the New York City apartment. "So you want our kid to get beaten up on a weekly basis? At least with Trouty Mouth, he might have the build of a football player."_

_Rachel rolled her eyes and flipped to the next page in her script. She appeared casual and nonchalant but Santana could see the tenseness in her hands, her nervousness at potential impending motherhood. She wanted to get it right._

_"Is that all you care about?" Rachel asked. "Your future child's physical build? And what if it's a girl? And besides, Artie is sweet -"_

_"So is Sam," Santana interrupted immediately._

_"And intelligent."_

_A pause. "Sam is sweet."_

_"And capable."_

_Santana scoffed. "Whatever, this is the same guy who told you get laid in high school so that you could play a character in a musical."_

_Rachel closed her script and dropped it on the coffee table, moving towards the sofa as she did so. She dropped down carefully next to Santana and placed a light kiss to her cheek, one of her legs resting against Santana's and her fingers splaying over the bare skin of Santana's thigh._

_"It's not a competition," Rachel told her. "Both Sam and Artie are good guys and perfectly acceptable candidates for sperm donation. They're our best friends and they'll both be a part of our child's life no matter what."_

_Santana considered her words for a moment, wrapping her arm around Rachel's shoulders and pulling her into her embrace._

_"Also, dylexia runs in families," Rachel added hastily. "So we should go with Artie."_

_"But -"_

_"Just think about it, Santana," she said, her fingers sliding up Santana's thigh slowly, skimming inch by painful inch up her leg. Rachel shifted in Santana's embrace, swiveling towards her in order to press achingly slow kisses to her neck. She parted her lips, letting them linger against Santana's skin. Santana's hips moved over their own accord, sliding forward on the sofa._

_Fuck it. With Sam and Artie as uncles, their kid was probably going to be a nerd anyway._

See? Rachel's fault. Santana was seduced (easily.)

And don't misunderstand. Santana loves her son. Blake is a sweet kid with her smile and Rachel's heart. So he's a nerd? That just means he'll be everyone's boss one day; or maybe he'll invent some crazy machine that will make him enough money to buy his mothers a nice house on a beach somewhere.

It's just that when she sits in restaurants and watches Blake act out scenes from the latest comic book movie (some millionth reboot of a franchise that she can't remember the name of) with Sam, she has a hard time resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Blake jumps up on the bench in their booth, four-year-old arms flailing about until Sam wraps an arm around him and laughs. "Mom, watch out! Blorgons!" he says loudly, pointing to a waitress. "I'll save you!" He _pew-pew_s at the waitress walking past them and then nods triumphantly.

Rachel laughs and pulls Blake back down on to the bench, straightening out his sweater and tie. She kisses his cheek. "My hero!" she plays along.

Santana really does roll her eyes at that, but there's a small smile playing on her lips. She places her hand on Rachel's leg, palm pressed flat against her jean-clad leg, and squeezes.

Across the circular booth, Sam stretches a hand out towards Artie, who is outside the booth and further away from the rest of them. His fingers brush over Artie's for a moment. "Hey, little guy, I think I spotted some Blorgons over by the dessert table," he says. "Why don't you go with Uncle Artie and see if you can find them?"

Blake nods seriously and Sam lifts him up, moving him over his legs to the open space at the end of the booth. Sam lowers his voice. "The fate of the universe depends on it."

"You got it, Captain."

He climbs across the small gap between the booth and Artie's lap. Artie chuckles and reaches forward, helping the little boy into his wheelchair. "Strap in, cadet," he says. "I have made some excellent new technical modifications to the ship."

Sam grins boyishly and winks at Artie, licking his lips. "Good luck, soldiers."

Artie and Blake fix their glasses at the same time and both of them nod. "Come on, little Bluetooth," Artie says, wheeling away from them.

Santana turns to Sam, the same small smile fighting its way across her face as she rolls her eyes again. "What have you done to my son?"

Sam shrugs, still grinning at Artie's retreating form. "We just have fun with him," he answers. "We're the cool uncles, you know? We took him to see a movie and Artie got him some video games to take home. I gave him some cool old comic books. Oh! And we had a totally awesome dinner last night at this restaurant near the laser tag place. They bring you soup that you can drink through a straw and the waiter let us have dessert for free."

Santana opens her mouth, but Rachel cuts her off. "It sounds like you boys had a wonderful time," she says sweetly. "Thank you for taking him for the night, Sam. We really appreciate it."

Across the establishment, Blake was holding on to Artie as he spun around in place a couple of times, laughing and firing off imaginary lasers with his fingers. Santana watches them, Blake's infectious smile spreading similarly across her own features.

"Yeah, thanks," she grudgingly admits, still smiling. "He loves you guys, even though you're both kind of nerds," Santana added.

Sam rolls his eyes at her and nudges Rachel, sharing a smile with her. "Next weekend, we're gonna marathon all of the Star Wars movies with him."

"No," Santana shakes her head immediately. "No way. I draw the line at Star Wars. There are _limits_, Trouty Mouth."

Sam chuckled and Rachel rolled her eyes. "Sweetie," she said politely, fingers curling around Santana's hand, which was still on her leg. "You're just going to have to learn to live with our son's inquisitive nature and love of science fiction."

Santana sighed in an over-exaggerated manner that they all knew was fake. She was still kind of smiling. Just a little bit. Blake was a nerd but he was a cute one. And more importantly, he was _her_ little nerd.

"Uncle Artie, what's a trout mouth?"


	57. Inappropriate Flirting

This is both a fill for livinginrhythm's prompt of "AU: Rachel is Santana's noisy, annoying neighbour" and Pezberry Week Day 1: inappropriate flirting. (Also posted on Tumblr)

* * *

><p>Santana slammed her mailbox closed in the foyer of her apartment building, annoyed to find that the metal hit right on the down beat of the increasingly annoying tune the woman down the row of boxes was humming. Santana knew who she was — Rachel Berry, the hobbit-sized ball of constant noise that lived next to her.<p>

Santana eyed her warily, taking in her long legs and the curves of her hips, full but not too full (the perfect size for her to grip and pull the woman against her). It was a shame that Rachel had to be so loud or Santana wouldn't mind inviting her in for a drink next time Rachel felt like dropping off a basket vegan muffins as a token of what she called "good neighborliness," which was way too often for it to be considered anything less than annoying, especially because she kept coming around when Santana was trying to go to sleep.

Rachel glanced over and caught her eye, sending her a small smile. "Hello, Santana," she said, locking her small mailbox and striding easily toward Santana. "How are you doing today?"

"Been better," Santana said casually.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I haven't gotten laid in weeks." Rachel's eyes widened and Santana smirked, continuing, "A little advice? Your singing is a major turn off for most girls."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "_Most_ girls?"

Santana nodded, moving closer to Rachel and leaning her head down slightly, a hand brushing Rachel's leg just below the hem of her skirt. "Mm-hmm," she said. "And I have the solution to the problem."

She was closer to Rachel now, so close that she could feel Rachel's breath on her neck, warm. Just inches away from Rachel's lips, those luscious inviting slightly-parted lips, she said softly, "You can shut the hell up by putting your lips against my —"

"Miss Berry?" came a small voice from behind them. "What's 'got laid' mean?"

Rachel took a large step back from her and sucked in a short breath as Santana crossed her arms, preparing to glare at the person who interrupted them, regardless of the fact that he looked to be about seven. "Mason, you're early," she said a bit breathlessly. "Your lesson doesn't start for half an hour."

He nodded. "And where are you going to put your lips?"

Santana choked back laughter then. "Listen, I'm going to go," she said to Rachel, backing away, "and let you deal with this. Just think about my offer, okay?"

"I want you to know that these muffins are just muffins and I am refusing to acknowledge the rather outrageous proposal you gave me this afternoon," Rachel said that night. It was sometime after midnight and Rachel had spent all afternoon singing loudly at the top of her lungs. Santana was pretty sure that Rachel had even been standing right next to the thin wall that separated their apartments the entire time.

"Mm-hmm," Santana nodded absently. "You coming in or what?"

Rachel shook her head. "No," she smirked. "The muffins are just muffins."

Santana took the basket from Rachel, grumbling, "You're lucky that you're kind of hot or you'd be the worst neighbor ever."

"Could be worse," Rachel said. "I could be the kind of neighbor who has outrageously loud sex when she knows that there are kids in the next apartment trying to get singing lessons."

_Oh._ Santana dropped the muffins on to the small table next to the door. "I'll keep it down when you've got kids around and you'll keep it down when normal people are trying to sleep?"

Rachel held out her hand, waiting until Santana shook it. Her palm flat against Santana's and her fingers curled around her hand, Rachel said, "_And_ you have to go out on a date with me."

"Deal," Santana nodded. As Rachel walked back to her apartment, humming softly, Santana was only partly sure that she could count it as a victory in her mental tally of battles fought. There are worse battles to lose, she decided, watching the way Rachel's hips swayed as she walked, her dress hugging her body in all the right places.


	58. In A Hopeless Place

"Santana? What are you doing here?"

Santana shrugged slightly, her shoulders just barely rising.

"You don't know what you're doing here?" Rachel asked.

"Not really," Santana admitted. A small smile started to spread across Rachel's face, the corners of her mouth lifting up. "Whatever," Santana said. "Don't look so smug about it."

Rachel's smile bloomed fully, lighting up her face with happiness and amusement that made Santana hate her, not least of all because she really wanted to kiss that face. "Just face it, Santana," Rachel said. "You want me. You want to be with me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Santana said immediately. "I should go."

Rachel's hand shot out quickly, her fingers curling around Santana's instinctively. "Don't," she said quietly, her voice soft in the warm night air. The hot summer day had given way to a gently warm summer night. "You came all this way," she whispered. The blue sky of the afternoon was now the grey of evening, a few shades of orange hesitant to disappear completely from the horizon. "Just stay for a while," she said.

Santana took a step away from her and Rachel felt it in her core, the slipping-away feeling that left her empty, like she had awoken from a dream and could only half-remember it before she woke up properly and it was gone. As Santana's fingers slipped out of hers, Rachel felt it. And it ached.

"That's not us," Santana told her.

Rachel felt that, too, and she remembered all of the other _us_'s that she and Santana had been — many of them happy ones — and now there was only emptiness and the half-forgotten dream that was Santana walking away from her again.


	59. The Wonders of the Universe

In which Santana is a Time Lord and Rachel _was_ her companion. Briefly. For about an hour. (This is obviously inspired by Doctor Who, the perfect show to watch while sick.)

* * *

><p>Santana pushed another button on the console, twisting her way around the center of the box-that-was-bigger-on-the-inside. She pulled things and pushed things and casually winked at Quinn as she urged her to wind a little green handle. Quinn laughed at Santana's enthusiasm and did as she was told, feeling the bottom of the machine lurch under her feet and her stomach twist in the most exhilarating way. She was doing it. She was traveling through space and time. Santana smiled at her and she smiled back.<p>

And then all was still. They had landed. This would be the moment of truth, the moment where she would find out if Santana was real, if what she had promised was honestly and truly real. She was either going to be on an entirely different planet in an entirely different time or she was going to have to kick the ass of the hot woman in the suit who got her hopes up that there could be more to the universe than the tiny bit she could see from out her window.

Santana smirked, obviously pleased. She straightened the lapels of her jacket. "Well," she said, "here we are. The —"

"No," Quinn interrupted. "Don't tell me yet. Just let me…"

Quinn walked to the door slowly, her feet falling silently against the floor of what Santana called the TARDIS. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around the door handle. Her breathe hitched slightly. This was it. The moment of truth. Quinn tightened her grip on the door handle and pulled slowly.

Light flooded the interior for a blinding second and then settled around a figure in the doorway, still and silent for but a moment. The figure brushed past Quinn quickly, an arm outstretched and an accusatory finger pointed at Santana.

"You! You left me!" the figure yelled.

Santana put her hands up. "Whoa. Relax. I was going to come back," she said easily. Quinn could read the lie on her face. She glanced outside, seeing blues and purples and yellows shining and twisting in the very air itself. She shut the door.

"Lies," the figure, a small woman with dark hair, said. "You take me from my home and then strand me on a dangerous planet millions of miles away. Your behavior is not only deplorable but it's just plain _rude_."

Santana waved her hand dismissively. "It wasn't a dangerous planet."

"I almost got eaten!"

"Yeah, but you didn't, _clearly_. You're alive and you're a good long way from Endestromion Seven," she said. She shrugged her shoulders and glanced over at Quinn. "You know what, hobbit? This is a nice planet, lots of pretty colors and aphrodisiacs. You should just stay here, Rachel, marry one of the short alien species inhabiting it."

Rachel went to say something but Quinn spoke up. "You stranded her on a different planet?"

Santana tilted her head. "Well, yeah," she said, as if it should have been obvious. "She's hot but she doesn't shut up. Ever."

"How dare you! I'll have you know that I have perfected the art of silence in moments that call for it but I was _not_ expecting to be promised the wonders of the universe. I was excited," Rachel said. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, tapping one of her feet against the floor.

"What's your excuse the rest of the time?" Santana shot back. She looked at Quinn, seeing every bit of awe and wonder drain from her face. God_damn_, she had been so close to getting with this one.

Quinn quickly wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulder, feeling the tension leave her small frame. "It's okay," she said. "We're going to take you home."

"We are?" Santana half-yelled. She immediately started shaking her head.

Rachel pulled away from Quinn just slightly. "No offense, Miss?"

"Quinn. Quinn Fabray."

"No offense, Quinn, but I was promised the wonders of the universe. Not to mention all of time and space," Rachel said matter-of-factly, leveling Santana with a cool look. She had been a little timid and kind of scared her first time in the TARDIS but she was no longer intimidated by Santana and it was obvious to everyone there. She quirked an eyebrow at Santana.

"Then you can come with us," Quinn said.

"What?" Santana interrupted. "No," she said firmly. "I don't think so. The TARDIS has limited space. Won't fit more than two at a time. No fucking way."

Quinn shot her a look that reminded her vaguely of the fiery eighth moon of the planet Garnox. The look was hot and angry and kind of sexy, just like the moon. She'd have to take Quinn there, definitely.

"Okay," she agreed grudgingly, glaring at Rachel for a moment before turning away. "She can come with us. But I swear, the moment she doesn't shut up when I tell her to, I'm dumping her out again."

"No, she won't," Quinn quickly told Rachel, who smiled.

"Yeah, I will," Santana said easily, gripping a knob on the console and pulling. The floor beneath them shook and they were off again.

Rachel smiled. "Thank you," she said to both of them, her smile lingering on Santana, who rolled her eyes and flicked a switch.

"So how did you get off that planet?" Santana asked, directing Quinn to wrap her fingers around a lever and hold it steady.

"It's a long story," Rachel replied.

Quinn was looking at Santana expectantly. Santana shrugged, her eyes wandering over Rachel's legs. Oh, yeah. Those were the reasons she'd picked up Rachel in the first place. Santana shrugged again, this time to herself. The view wasn't bad, at least. "Whatever. I've got time," she told Rachel.

Quinn smiled. It was a start.


	60. The Wonders of the Universe, Part Two

This is a follow-up to the last drabble, in which Santana is a Time Lord. Enjoy and if you feel like it, let me know how you feel about it.

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><p>The three of them stood at the door together, shoulder to shoulder. This was it. Quinn was officially going to get to explore her first new planet and Rachel was going to have accompaniment for an adventure instead of attempting to borrow rides on strange vessels with aliens that didn't speak her language. She'd been lucky to find that one species that communicated solely via singing.<p>

For Santana, it was just another planet. They all started to look the same after a few hundred years, stars and nebulas and galaxies and people and aliens in need of saving. "Welcome to Pirouette Altarinal."

Quinn snorted. "Pirouette? Don't tell me. It's a race of alien dancers."

"Yes, exactly," Santana nodded.

"Huh. I wasn't expecting something so literal," Rachel said, sharing a shrug with Quinn.

Santana smirked. "Wait until I take you to the land of wine and women."

Rachel stepped forward and pulled the door open before anyone else could. She had waited long enough. It was her turn to experience the wonders of the universe without having to hitchhike her way somewhere Santana might arrive. Speaking of Santana…

Rachel spun around on her heels and slapped Santana sharply, the sound echoing through the TARDIS loudly. "You deserved that," she said simply.

"The fuck?" Santana lunged at her but Quinn grabbed her while Rachel stepped outside. Santana wriggled in her arms and managed to get out of them, glaring angrily at Quinn, who said, "It's true. You kind of did."

Santana smoothed down her jacket. "I should take both of your hot asses home right now," she spat. "You're way more trouble than your worth. I'm seven hundred years old. I don't have to stay here and be treated like this by some wide-eyed hobbit ingenue struggling to even get auditions and her new bestie, a washed-up high school cheerleader who dropped out of college."

Quinn shook her head. "Then why did you bring us here? Why did you bring me with you? Fuck you, Santana. You don't even know me. I just," she paused. "I just wanted to know that there are better things out there, okay? That the universe isn't just shit," she said, her eyes fluttering closed. "Leave us if you want," she turned away. "But I'm going to go discover something new."

Quinn walked out, leaving Santana standing on the platform between the center console of the TARDIS and the door. Santana stomped her feet for a moment, turning toward her console and sighing. She turned back towards the door and followed Quinn out. She was standing just outside the door and Santana slid her hand into Quinn's simply.

"It's the wonder," Santana said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon. "I'm seven hundred. Nothing surprises me. Not anymore."

"Then why do you do it?"

Santana shrugged. "Nothing better to do," she squeezed Quinn's hand. "And it's not all shit," she added. "It's really not."

Quinn smiled and Santana released her hand, bouncing on her heels. "Now, where is Rachel?"

Quinn pointed to their left, where Rachel was caught in the arms of a tall, leggy blonde. Slightly raised curves traced a delicate pattern around her eyes, each one thin, looping around then flaring out to disappear into her hair. She was spinning around slowly, Rachel held in her embrace and pressed against her. Rachel's eyes were wide and she was a little stiff but didn't resist the alien who was holding her.

Santana fumed, storming over to the pair and pulling Rachel away. "What the hell? You're not an intergalactic whore. What are you doing?"

"We were just dancing," Rachel replied, breathless and panting. "She hasn't said anything. She just grabbed me and started dancing. As a self-appointed ambassador for the human race, I didn't want to be impolite."

Santana, exasperated, looked over at the alien, who had grabbed a laughing Quinn and was showing her how to do a special dance that involved a lot of jumping and spinning. "She was hitting on you, Rachel," she said. "Brittany, don't hit on my companions!"

"You know, Santana, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous," Rachel said.

Santana scoffed. "Shut up. Brittany!"

Brittany, tall and thin, shrugged toward Santana and waved her arms, bowing a bit. She let go of Quinn, smiling at her. She jumped up and over to Santana, pulling her into a tight hug. Santana smiled, rolling her eyes, and returned the hug. Brittany shimmied a little bit.

"What do you mean?"

Brittany lifted herself onto her toes and did a full spin. Rachel and Quinn could do nothing but watch. Brittany dropped to the ground and then pulled herself back up. She shot a wink towards Rachel, who blushed.

"Well that's new," Santana muttered. She pulled away from Brittany and looked over at Rachel and Quinn. "This is going to be dangerous," she told them.

"How dangerous?" Quinn asked, fingers seeking out Santana's until she was able to grip them.

Santana took her hand and held her free one out until Rachel took it. Santana rolled her eyes but gripped Rachel's hand tightly. "It breathes fire," she said, "and it can dance."

Rachel and Quinn looked at each other, hazel meeting brown. Rachel looked up momentarily, seeing a star-filled sky that she had never seen before, and then looked at Santana, nodding. "I won my first dance competition when I was three months old."

Santana smirked. "Quinn?"

"I'm a fast learner," Quinn replied. "And I like fire."

Santana laughed. "Alright, we're in business. Brittany, lead the way."

Brittany flicked her wrist sharply and started walking towards a building in the distance. They could see flames starting to rise from it, the night sky black with smoke.

"But first," Rachel started, "let's formulate a plan. I'm imagining a seven-point attack scheme featuring some —"

"Shut up, Rachel."

"But I —"

"I will lock you in that building."

"Fine," Rachel huffed. "What do you suggest?"

"Let's just do this," Santana said simply. "We'll plan as we go. You only live once and I don't want to spend half of the next thousand years drafting fucking plans. Come on, Rachel," she added, fingers clenching around Rachel's so she couldn't jerk away. "Okay?"

Rachel took a deep breath. "Okay."

Santana looked at Quinn next. "Okay," Quinn nodded.

"Okay," Santana repeated. "There's a fire-breathing, dancing monster the size of a warehouse with our names on it."


	61. The Great Debate

Rachel is running for local office and Santana is her campaign manager/girlfriend.

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><p>Rachel took a deep breath and counted to three before mentally singing a scale in her head. She was now only allowed to sing at Santana-sanctioned times and backstage at an election debate was not one of those times, which Rachel had learned after singing a song backstage at her last debate and breaking the horrible speaker system at the Lima municipal auditorium.<p>

Rachel heard her name followed by a smattering of applause and she opened her eyes. She put on her brightest smile and waved as she walked across the stage. It was the smile-and-wave technique Rachel had been practicing since she was three years old. She could do it in her sleep, and according to Santana, she sometimes did. ("If you smack me one more time, you're sleeping on the couch.")

She took her place behind a podium and looked out to the crowd as her competitor took his position. Rachel spotted Santana immediately and waited for Santana to send her one of the six dozen signals that Rachel had sent her a memo and presentation about. Santana settled for waving at her and she sighed.

_"What the hell is this?"_

_"It's a list of signals. I have taken the time to prepare a hand signal for every possible situation that might arise," Rachel tilted her head against Santana's upper arm and ran her finger down the page, "from 'too much cleavage' to 'steer the conversation to a different topic' to 'your pants are on fire.' There is, of course, a different signal for 'your shirt is one fire.'"_

_Santana wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulders out of habit. "I'm not doing any of these," she said, tossing the paper on to a nearby stack of recycling._

_"Yes, you are," Rachel replied. "And you should be thanking me for doing your job."_

_Rachel started to move but Santana pulled her back, grabbing her cell phone with her free hand and sending off a few texts. "Babe, my job isn't to make dumb hand signals. It's to make sure that you win," she lowered her phone and looked at Rachel. "And for the record, you could show just a tiny bit more cleavage."_

_"Santana!"_

_"When you wear a top with a low neckline, your poll numbers rise by twenty percent among male voters," Santana said. Rachel swatted at her and she shrugged. "You have nice tits. You might as well use them."_

Rachel hadn't known whether to be flattered or offended so she had made Santana sleep on the couch that night.

"Alright, let's get started," the moderator said, bringing Rachel back into the moment. She looked at Santana one more time as the moderator introduced himself.

Santana tucked her phone into her pocket and raised up both hands. "You're fantastic," she signaled, fingers moving the way Rachel had indicated on her memo. "I love you," she mouthed. "Destroy him," she signed.

Rachel nodded and grinned, more ready than ever.


	62. Love, New York

I'm putting these both together because I wrote them at the same time and they're both really short. Thanks for reading and thanks to those who offer their support on Tumblr.

* * *

><p>"Do you still love her, mom?"<p>

"Love who, sweetie?"

"Santana."

"Of course I still love her. That's a silly question. Now come on, we have to practice our scales one more time before you go to your piano lesson…Who said I don't love Santana?"

"Santana."

* * *

><p>"How can you and Kurt afford this place? Everything in New York is stupid expensive."<p>

"Well, we —"

"Are you a prostitute? Are you paying for this place with the money you get from hooking up with lower to middle management types? Good for you, Rachel. And I don't blame you for sticking with the lower to middle types because we all know I'm the only one in here who could pull an executive."

"Actually, Santana, I was going to say that we're welcoming a third roommate to help with the rent, namely _you_. But if this is indicative of the kind of behavior we can expect from you then I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Okay, fine. You could totally be a high-class escort. The long-time mistress to a wealthy CEO, even."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome. Now where's my bed?"


	63. Pushing Daisies

An anonymous person asked for something Pezberry that was inspired by Pushing Daisies, which is my all-time favorite show. It's not necessary to have seen the show to read this. Enjoy.

* * *

><p>Rachel shifted uneasily, looking first at the woman in front of her and then at the signed guest book outside the funeral parlor. She could see the names and comments of a half dozen people she had known scribbled across the first page, distant relatives and old friends, people she had gone to school with and people she had worked with. They were condolences written to her fathers. About <em>her<em>.

"I don't understand," she said. "I was alive and then I was dead and now you're telling me that I'm alive again? That _you_ brought me back to life?"

Santana shrugged. "Yeah, well. Whatever. It's no big deal. It's just this thing that I can do: wake the dead, run a bakery, you know — the usual."

Rachel absentmindedly ran her hands over her dress, checking to see that all of her body parts were there. "That still doesn't make any sense, Santana, I — why me? Why? How? You can't just bring a dead person back to life and then dismiss it as no big deal," Rachel started, her voice steadily rising. "For all we know, you've created a paradigm or a paradox or something that begins with para- and ends badly."

"Oh, my god. You've been alive again for less than five minutes and I'm already regretting this," Santana muttered. "Look," she said, "I don't know _how._ It started when I was a kid. If I touch something dead, it comes back to life."

"And that's it?"

"Pretty much," Santana said, grimacing slightly. "I mean, you can't go back to your old life because as far as the world is concerned, your dead body is buried deeper than my pile of designer shoes."

Rachel paled and her eyes widened for a moment before watering. A lot had been thrown at her in the span of a few moments, her whole life given back to her, the possibilities endless but for the fact that she couldn't properly be who she was. How was she going to perform if she was dead? At least her first two albums would probably sell better posthumously; death tended to do that to record sales.

"So what do I do?"

Rachel sucked in a breath and looked at Santana, brown eyes full of tears and confusion. They were still the same brown they had been in high school, a hint of wonder and optimism shining from beneath the tears. And her voice… Rachel Berry hadn't changed much in seven years.

Santana shrugged, thinking unbidden of wasted high school years hating a small girl with hopes and dreams bigger than Santana could ever imagine. And now Rachel had a second chance at _something._

She sighed. "Okay, listen, hobbit. I could use some help at the bakery and I have a little side business with a buddy. If you promise to keep your mouth shut, you can come along, I guess."

Rachel jumped up and started to throw her arms around Santana, who moved back as quickly as she could. "No," Santana half-shouted. "You can't touch me. If you touch me again, that's it. You're dead forever."

"Oh."

Santana straightened her jacket, stuffing her hands into the pockets. "Yeah. I know I'm super hot, but you have to keep your hands to yourself."

Rachel nodded resolutely. "Okay. Hands to myself. Second chance at life. I can do this," she said firmly. "Thank you, Santana," she added gently.

Santana shook her head. "The fuck have I done?"

Rachel took off out the doors and started towards the parking lot with Santana trailing behind her, eyes wandering down over Rachel's legs. Yeah, totally worth it.


	64. Halloween

Rachel, Santana and their two children enjoy a little pumpkin carving. They're technically the same kids from the Halloween-themed fic _Tonight, we are the king and queen_, but it's not necessary to have read that first, as this is just a little drabble.

* * *

><p>Santana carefully held a box of orange lights for the front yard in one arm and a nineteen-month-old in the other, his hands full of plastic masks that he kept trying to eat. Almost a dozen capes of various lengths and fabrics were draped over her shoulder and another dozen were draped over Luis, who wiggled in her arms. She carefully pressed her back against the door, hoping that it would open. It didn't.<p>

Santana sighed and propped the box against the doorframe with her hip before pulling a few capes of of Luis so that she could see his face. He was grinning, dimples on full display as she pushed a few curly brown hairs out of his eyes. "Mama shut the door on us," she told him, "but I'm gonna get us in, okay?"

Santana winked at him and started kicking the door. "Rachel! Rachel, let us in! Come on, Luis, help me out."

Luis nodded. "Mama! Mama!" he shouted, laughing when Santana pulled a face at him.

The doorknob twisted and they heard Rachel on the other side. "I'm coming. Honestly," she said, pulling the door open, "you two are so impatient."

Santana slid inside the house, pecking Rachel on the lips as she passed her. "You knew we were coming back soon. Mama tried to keep us out," she said to Luis.

Rachel rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her apron. "Forgive me for being aware of proper front door etiquette, which requires that the door be closed upon the proper entrance or exit of a home, office, or other such space."

"Whatever," Santana said immediately.

"Sophie is in the kitchen," Rachel said to Luis, taking him from Santana and putting him on the ground when he tried to wiggle out of her arms. Luis grabbed on to the staircase banister with his small hands and furrowed his brows, pulling himself up and toddling unsteadily. Santana made a move to grab him but he waved a hand at her and grunted before starting off towards the kitchen on his own. Santana watched him with a grin that perfectly matched the one on Luis's face. When she turned around, Rachel was leaning against the wall and smiling softly.

"You know, I never get tired of seeing you with our children," Rachel said quietly, her voice barely reaching Santana's ears across the hall. "Even when you teach them bad habits," she added.

Santana closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms around Rachel and resting her cheek against the side of Rachel's head. "I'm just teaching them the awesome habits that you won't," she teased. "And besides, someone has to get the house ready for Halloween. I freaking mastered Halloween and believe me, it demands way more masks and lights."

Rachel pressed one of her hands against Santana's hip and slid the other into her pocket, pulling out a small piece of wrapped candy. "Does it demand so much sugar?"

"Yes," Santana replied simply, pulling back from Rachel. "Wait a second," her eyes narrowed, sliding down over the front of Rachel's dirty apron. She gasped. "You started the pumpkins without us?" she half-yelled, starting towards the kitchen.

"We started to get impatient. Sophie has a dance lesson tonight," Rachel told her, following along behind her. "And we —"

"That is not okay! That's totally _my_ thing!"

Sophie, who was all of six years old and had inherited Rachel's love of animal sweaters, had two small arms buried down to the elbow in a pumpkin that was larger than her head. Luis was sitting next to her, his fingers playing in the pile of pumpkin goo that was resting on his lap. They both stopped as soon as

"Mommy," Sophie said happily, "don't worry. We saved you and mama the best pumpkin. And you still gotta help me with the eyes."

Santana exhaled in relief and kissed the top of her daughter's head, feeling Rachel bump her hip. "I would love to help you carve out some eyes, sweetie."

"You clean and I'll carve?" Rachel asked, lifting herself up for a quick kiss from Santana.

"Deal," Santana said, smiling as she saw Luis grab a handful of pumpkin innards and smear them across the table. Rachel wrapped her arms around Sophie and shared Santana's smile.


	65. Pushing More Daisies

vickiimadd on tumblr asked for a continuation of this drabble: Pezberry inspired by Pushing Daisies.

* * *

><p>"No singing."<p>

"But —"

"Do you wanna die again? Because I _will_ end you."

Rachel rolled her eyes, watching Santana roll out a large portion of dough. "Santana, honestly —"

Santana carefully rolled out another corner of dough and then wiped her hands on her apron, glaring at Rachel. This whole thing had been a bad idea. "I'm going to smack you. I am going to seriously smack you to death."

Santana scoffed, picked up another section of rolled dough, this one the dark brown of chocolate, and placed it carefully on top of the plain dough.

"But I could help you! I could provide some very pleasurable entertainment to the patrons of your bakery," Rachel said emphatically. She watched Santana's hands carefully glide over the chocolate dough, smoothing out the bumps. Santana was calm and worked skillfully and Rachel almost, _almost_ imagined Santana's hands gliding over her skin instead of cookie dough.

"No."

"Can I help you bake?"

"No."

"Are you going to let me do anything?"

Santana sighed, shaking her head. "Look, Rachel, just…sit over there on that stool and look pretty, okay? That's what you can do."

Rachel paused, blinking. "You think I'm pretty?"

"No," Santana said immediately. "No."

Rachel smiled smugly. She knew Santana had been checking her out. "You do! You think I'm pretty," she smirked. "And to think how many times you insulted my looks in high school."

Santana glared, head shaking as she ground out, "You can help me roll these cookies if you shut up right now. No talking."

Rachel grinned, grabbing a spare apron from beneath the counter. "Deal," she nodded.

"Oh, I am so going to kill you one day."


End file.
